4  o  t  E 


HARVEST 


In  the  midst  of  it  stood  the  figure  of  a  silent  woman. 

(Page  86) 


HARVEST 


BY 


MRS.   HUMPHRY  WARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "ROBERT  ELSMERE,"  "LADY  ROSE'S 
DAUGHTER,"  "MISSING,"  "HELENA,"  ETC. 


FRONTISPIECE  IN  COLOUR  BY 

ALLAN  GILBERT 


COPYRIGHT,    1919,  BT 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY,  INC. 


tSfjt  (Shitnn  &  Sobtn    Companp 

BOOK      MANUFACTURERS 
RAHWAY  NEW    JERSEY 


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2229037 


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TWO  old  labourers  came  out  of  the  lane  lead- 
ing to  Great  End  Farm.  Both  carried  bags 
slung  on  sticks  over  their  shoulders.  One, 
the  eldest  and  tallest,  was  a  handsome  fellow,  with 
regular  features  and  a  delicately  humorous  mouth. 
His  stoop  and  his  slouching  gait,  the  gray  locks  also, 
which  straggled  from  under  his  broad  hat,  showed 
him  an  old  man — probably  very  near  his  old-age 
pension.  But  he  carried  still  with  him  a  look  of 
youth,  and  he  had  been  a  splendid  creature  in  his 
time.  The  other  was  short  of  stature  and  of  neck, 
bent  besides  by  field  work.  A  broadly-built,  clumsy 
man,  with  something  gnome-like  about  him,  and  the 
cheerful  look  of  one  whose  country  nerves  had  never 
known  the  touch  of  worry  or  long  sickness.  The 
name  of  the  taller  man  was  Peter  Halsey,  and 
Joseph  Batts  was  his  companion. 

It  was  a  fine  July  evening,  with  a  cold  north  wind 


2  HARVEST 

blowing  from  the  plain  which  lay  stretched  to  their 
right.  Under  the  unclouded  sun,  which  by  its  own 
"  sun-time  "  had  only  reached  half-past  four  in  the 
afternoon,  though  the  clock  in  the  village  church  had 
already  struck  half-past  five,  the  air  was  dry  and 
parching,  and  the  fields  all  round,  the  road  itself, 
and  the  dusty  hedges  showed  signs  of  long  drought. 

"  It  du  want  rain,"  said  Peter  Halsey,  looking  at 
a  crop  of  oats  through  an  open  gate,  "  it  du  want 
rain — bad." 

"  Aye ! "  said  the  other,  "  that  it  du.  Muster 
Shenstone  had  better  'a  read  the  prayer  for  rain  lasst 
Sunday,  I'm  thinkin',  than  all  them  long  ones  as  ee 
did  read." 

Halsey  was  silent  a  moment,  his  half-smiling  eyes 
glancing  from  side  to  side.  At  last  he  said  slowly, — 

"  We  du  be  prayin'  a  lot  about  ower  sins,  and 
Muster  Shenstone  is  allus  preachin'  about  'em.  But 
it's  the  sins  o'  the  Garmins  I  be  thinkin'  of.  If  it 
hadn't  a  bin  for  the  sins  o'  the  Garmins  my  Tom 
wouldn't  ha'  lost  'is  right  hand." 

"  An'  ower  Jim  wouldn't  be  goin'  into  them 
trenches  next  November  as  ever  is,"  put  in  Batts. 
"  It's  the  sins  o'  the  Garmins  as  ha'  done  that,  an' 
nothin'  as  you  or  I  ha'  done,  Peter." 

Halsey  shook  his  head  assentingly. 

"  Noa — for  all  that  pratin',  pacifist  chap  was  say- 


HARVEST  3 

in'  lasst  week.  I  didn't  believe  a  word  ee  said. 
'  Yis,'  I  says,  *  if  you  want  this  war  to  stop,  I'm  o' 
your  mind,'  I  says,  '  but  when  you  tells  me  as  Eng- 
land done  it — you'm — ' ' 

The  short  man  burst  into  a  cackling  laugh. 

"  '  You'm  a  liar! '     Did  you  say  that,  Peter? " 

Peter  fenced  a  little. 

"  There  be  more  ways  nor  one  o'  speakin'  your 
mind,"  he  said  at  last.  "  But  I  stood  up  to  un.  Did 
you  hear,  Batts,  as  Great  End  Farm  is  let?  " 

The  old  man  turned  an  animated  look  on  his  com- 
panion. 

"  Well,  for  sure !  "  said  Batts,  astonished.  "  An' 
who's  the  man?  " 

"  It's  not  a  man.    It's  a  woman." 

"A  woman!"  repeated  Batts,  wondering. 
"  Well,  these  be  funny  times  to  live  in,  when  the 
women  go  ridin'  astride  an'  hay-balin',  an'  steam- 
ploughin',  an'  the  Lord  knows  what.  And  now  they 
must  be  takin'  the  farms,  and  turnin'  out  the  men. 
Well,  for  sure." 

A  mild  and  puzzled  laughter  crossed  the  speaker's 
face. 

Halsey  nodded. 

"  An'  now  they've  got  the  vote.  That's  the  top 
on't !  My  old  missis,  she  talks  poltiks  now  to  me  of 
a  night.  I  don't  mind  her,  now  the  childer  be  all 


4  HARVEST 

gone.  But  I'd  ha'  bid  her  mind  her  own  business 
when  they  was  yoong  an'  wanted  seein'  to." 

"  Now,  what  can  a  woman  knoa  about  poltiks?  " 
said  Batts,  still  in  the  same  tone  of  pleasant  rumina- 
tion. "  It  isn't  in  natur.  We  warn't  given  the  pro- 
ducin'  o'  the  babies — we'd  ha'  cried  out  if  we  'ad 
been!" 

A  chuckle  passed  from  one  old  man  to  the 
other. 

"  Well,  onyways  the  women  is  all  in  a  flutter  about 
the  votin',"  said  Halsey,  lighting  his  pipe  with  old 
hands  that  shook.  "  An'  there's  chaps  already 
coomin'  round  lookin'1  out  for  it." 

"  You  bet  there  is ! "  was  Batts's  amused  reply. 
"  But  they'll  take  their  toime,  will  the  women. 
*  Don't  you  try  to  hustle-bustle  me  like  you're  doin',' 
say  my  missus  sharp-like  to  a  Labour  chap  as  coom 
round  lasst  week,  *  cos  yo'  won't  get  nothin'  by  it.' 
And  she  worn't  no  more  forthcomin^  to  the  Con- 
servative man  when  ee  called." 

"Will  she  do  what  you  tell  her,  Batts?"  asked 
Halsey,  with  an  evident  interest  in  the  question. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  no !  "  said  Batts  placidly,  "  shan't 
try.  But  now  about  this  yoong  woman  an'  Great 
End? " 

"Well,  I  ain't  beared  much  about  her — not  yet 
awhile.  But  they  say  as  she's  nice-lookin',  an* 


HARVEST  5 

Muster  Shentsone  ee  said  as  she'd  been  to  college 
somewhere,  where  they'd  larn't  her  farmin'." 

Batts  made  a  sound  of  contempt. 

"  College !  "  he  said,  with  a  twitching  of  the  broad 
nostrils  which  seemed  to  spread  over  half  his  face. 
"  They  can't  larn  yer  farmin'  I  " 

"  She's  been  on  a  farm  too  somewhere  near 
Brighton,  Muster  Shenstone  says,  since  she  was  at 
college;  and  ee  told  me  she  do  seem  to  be  terr'ble 
full  o'  new  notions." 

"  She'd  better  be  full  o'  money,"  said  the  other, 
cuttingly.  "  Notions  is  no  good  without  money  to 
'em." 

"  Aye,  they're  wunnerfull  costly  things  is  notions. 
Yo'd  better  by  a  long  way  go  by  the  folk  as  know. 
But  they  do  say  she'll  be  payin'  good  wages." 

"  I  dessay  she  will !  She'll  be  obleeged.  It's 
Hobson's  choice,  as  you  might  say!"  said  Batts, 
chuckling  again. 

Halsey  was  silent,  and  the  two  old  men  trudged 
on  with  cheerful  countenances.  Through  the  minds 
of  both  there  ran  pleasant  thoughts  of  the  contrast 
between  the  days  before  the  war  and  the  days  now 
prevailing.  Both  of  them  could  remember  a  wage 
of  fifteen  and  sixteen  shillings  a  week.  Then  just 
before  the  war,  it  had  risen  to  eighteen  shillings  and 
a  pound.  And  now — why  the  Wages  Board  for 


6  HARVEST 

Brookshire  had  fixed  thirty-three  shillings  as  a 
weekly  minimum,  and  a  nine-hours'  day!  Prices 
were  high,  but  they  would  go  down  some  day;  and 
wages  would  not  go  down.  The  old  men  could  not 
have  told  exactly  why  this  confidence  lay  so  deep  in 
them;  but  there  it  was,  and  it  seemed  to  give  a 
strange  new  stability  and  even  dignity  to  life.  Their 
sons  were  fighting;  and  they  had  the  normal  human 
affection  for  their  sons.  They  wished  the  war  to 
end.  But,  after  all,  there  was  something  to  be  said 
for  the  war.  They — old  Peter  Halsey  and  old  Joe 
Batts — were  more  considered  and  more  comfortable 
than  they  would  have  been  before  the  war.  And  it 
was  the  consideration  more  even  than  the  comfort 
that  warmed  their  hearts. 

The  evening  grew  hotter,  and  the  way  to  the  vil- 
lage seemed  long.  The  old  men  were  now  too  tired 
to  talk;  till  just  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  first 
houses,  they  perceived  the  village  wagonette  coming 
towards  them. 

"  There  she  be !  I  did  hear  as  Webb  wor  to  meet 
her  at  the  station.  He's  took  her  over  once  before," 
said  old  Halsey,  raising  his  eyes  for  a  moment  and 
then  dropping  them  again.  Batts  did  the  same. 
The  glance  was  momentary.  But  both  men  had  the 
same  impression  of  a  pleasant-faced  young  woman 
sitting  erect  behind  Jonathan  Webb,  the  decrepit 


HARVEST  7 

driver  of  the  wagonette,  and  looking  straight  at 
them  as  they  passed  her.  There  was  a  general  effect 
of  youth  and  bright  colour;  of  pale  brown  hair,  too, 
over  very  dark  eyes. 

"  Aye,  she  be  quite  nice-lookin',"  said  Batts,  with 
unction,  "  rayther  uncommon.  She  minds  me  summat 
o'  my  missis  when  she  wor  a  young  'un."  Halsey's 
mouth  twitched  a  little,  but  though  his  thoughts 
were  ironical,  he  said  nothing.  It  was  generally  ad- 
mitted by  the  older  people  that  Mrs.  Batts  had  been 
through  many  years  the  village  beauty,  but  her  fall 
from  that  high  place  was  now  of  such  ancient  date 
that  it  seemed  foolish  of  Batts  to  be  so  fond  of 
referring  to  it. 

The  wagonette  passed  on.  The  woman  sitting  in 
it  carefully  took  note  of  the  scene  around  her,  in  a 
mood  of  mingled  hope  and  curiosity.  She  was  to 
live  in  this  valley  without  a  stream,  under  these  high 
chalk  downs  with  their  hanging  woods,  and  within 
a  mile  or  so  of  the  straggling  village  she  had  just 
driven  through.  At  last,  after  much  wandering,  she 
was  to  find  a  home — a  real  home  of  her  own.  The 
word  "  home  "  had  not  meant  much — or  much  at 
least  that  was  agreeable — to  her,  till  now.  Her 
large  but  handsome  mouth  took  a  bitter  fold  as  she 
thought  over  various  past  events. 


8  HARVEST 

Now  they  had  left  the  village  behind,  and  were 
passing  through  fields  that  were  soon  to  be  her  fields. 
Her  keen  eyes  appraised  the  crops  standing  in  them. 
She  had  paid  the  family  of  her  predecessor  a  good 
price  for  them,  but  they  were  worth  it.  And  just 
ahead,  on  her  left,  was  a  wide  stretch  of  newly- 
ploughed  land  rising  towards  a  bluff  of  grassy  down- 
land  on  the  horizon.  The  ploughed  land  itself  had 
been  down  up  to  a  few  months  before  this  date ;  thin 
pasture  for  a  few  sheep,  through  many  generations. 
She  thought  with  eagerness  of  the  crops  she  was 
going  to  make  it  bear,  in  the  coming  year.  Wheat, 
or  course.  The  wheat  crops  all  round  the  village 
were  really  magnificent.  This  was  going  to  be  the 
resurrection  year  for  English  farming,  after  fifty 
years  of  "  death  and  damnation  " — comparatively. 
'And  there  would  be  many  good  years  to  come  after. 

Yes,  Mr.  Thomas  Wellin,  whose  death  had 
thrown  the  farm  which  she  had  now  taken  on  the 
market,  had  done  well  for  the  land.  And  it  was 
not  his  fault  but  the  landlord's  that  the  farmhouse 
and  buildings  had  been  allowed  to  fall  into  such  a 
state.  Mr.  Wellin  had  not  wanted  the  house,  since 
he  was  only  working  the  land  temporarily  in  addi- 
tion to  his  own  farm  half  a  mile  away.  But  the 
owner,  Colonel  Shepherd,  ought  to  have  looked 
after  the  farmhouse  and  buildings  better.  Still, 


HARVEST.  9 

they  were  making  her  a  fair  allowance  for  re- 
pairs. 

She  was  longing  to  know  how  the  workmen  from 
Millsboro'  had  been  getting  on.  Hastings,  the 
Wellins'  former  bailiff,  now  temporarily  hers,  had 
promised  to  stay  behind  that  evening  to  meet  her 
at  the  farm.  She  only  meant  to  insist  on  what  was 
absolutely  necessary.  Even  if  she  had  wished  for 
anything  more,  the  lack  of  labour  would  have  pre- 
,vented  it. 

The  old  horse  jogged  on,  and  presently  from  a 
row  of  limes  beside  the  road,  a  wave  of  fragrance, 
evanescent  and  delicious,  passed  over  the  carriage. 
Miss  Henderson  sniffed  it  with  delight.  "  But  one 
has  never  enough  of  it!  "  she  thought  discontent- 
edly. And  then  she  remembered  how  as  a  child — 
in  far-away  Sussex — she  used  to  press  her  face  into 
the  lime-blossom  in  her  uncle's  garden — passion- 
ately, greedily,  trying  to  get  from  it  a  greater 
pleasure  than  it  would  ever  yield.  For  the  more 
she  tried  to  compel  it,  by  a  kind  of  violence,  the 
more  it  escaped  her.  She  used  to  envy  the  bees 
lying  drunk  among  the  blooms.  They  at  least  were 
surfeited  and  satisfied. 

It  struck  her  that  there  was  a  kind  of  parable  in 
it  of  her  whole  life — so  far. 

But  now  there  was  a  new  world  opening.     The 


io  HARVEST 

past  was  behind  her.  She  drew  herself  stiffly  erect, 
conscious  through  every  limb  of  youth  and  strength, 
and  filled  with  a  multitude  of  vague  hopes.  Con- 
scious, too,  of  the  three  thousand  pounds  that 
Uncle  Robert  had  so  opportunely  left  her.  She  had 
never  realized  that  money  could  make  so  much  dif- 
ference; and  she  thought  gratefully  of  the  elderly 
bachelor,  her  mother's  brother,  who  had  unexpect- 
edly remembered  her.  It  had  enabled  her  to  get 
her  year's  training,  and  to  take  this  farm  with  a 
proper  margin  of  capital.  She  wished  she  had  been 
able  to  tell  Uncle  Robert  before  he  died  what  it 
meant  to  her. 

They  passed  one  or  two  pairs  of  labourers  going 
home,  then  a  group  of  girls  in  overalls,  then  a 
spring  cart  containing  four  workmen  behind  a 
ragged  pony,  no  doubt  the  builder's  men  who  had 
been  at  work  on  the  Great  End  repairs.  They  all 
looked  at  her  curiously,  and  Rachel  Henderson 
looked  back  at  them — steadily,  without  shyness. 
They  were  evidently  aware  of  who  she  was  and 
where  she  was  going.  Some  of  them  perhaps  would 
soon  be  in  her  employ.  She  would  be  settling  all 
that  in  a  week  or  two. 

Ah,  there  was  the  house.  She  leant  forward  and 
saw  it  lying  under  the  hill,  the  woods  on  the  slope 
coming  down  to  the  back  of  it.  Yes,  it  was  certainly 


HARVEST  ii 

a  lonely  situation.  That  was  why  the  house,  the 
farm  lands,  too,  had  been  so  lofig  unlet,  till  old 
Wellin,  the  farm's  nearest  neighbour,  having  made 
a  good  deal  of  money,  had  rented  the  land  from 
Colonel  Shepherd,  to  add  to  his  own.  The  farm 
buildings,  too,  he  had  made  some  use  of,  keeping 
carts  and  machines,  and  certain  stores  there.  But 
the  house  he  had  refused  to  have  any  concern  with. 
It  had  remained  empty  and  locked  up  for  a  good 
many  years. 

The  wagonette  turned  into  the  rough  road  leading 
through  the  middle  of  a  fine  field  of  oats  to  the 
house.  The  field  was  gaily  splashed  with  poppies, 
which  ran,  too,  along  the  edges  of  the  crop,  swayed 
by  the  evening  breeze,  and  flaming  in  the  level  sun. 
Though  lonesome  and  neglected,  the  farm  in  July 
was  a  pleasant  and  picturesque  object.  It  stood  high 
and  the  air  about  it  blew  keen  and  fresh.  The  chalk 
hill  curved  picturesquely  round  it,  and  the  friendly 
woods  ran  down  behind  to  keep  it  company.  Rachel 
Henderson,  in  pursuit  of  that  campaign  she  was 
always  now  waging  against  a  natural  optimism, 
tried  to  make  herself  imagine  it  in  winter — the  leaf- 
less trees,  the  solitary  road,  the  treeless  pasture  or 
arable  fields,  that  stretched  westward  in  front  of 
the  farm,  covered  perhaps  with  snow;  and  the  dis- 
tant stretches  of  the  plain.  There  was  not  another 


12  HARVEST 

house,  not  even  a  cottage,  anywhere  in  sight.  The 
village  had  disappeared.  She  herself,  in  the  old 
wagonette,  seemed  the  only  living  thing. 

No,  there  was  a  man  emerging  from  the  farm- 
gate,  and  coming  to  meet  her — the  bailiff,  George 
Hastings.  She  had  only  seen  him  once  before,  on 
her  first  hurried  visit,  when,  after  getting  a  rough 
estimate  from  him  of  the  repairs  necessary  to  the 
house  and  buildings,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
take  the  farm,  if  the  landlord  would  agree  to  do 
them. 

"  Yon's  Muster  Hastings,"  said  Jonathan  Webb, 
turning  on  her  a  benevolent  and  wrinkled  counte* 
nance,  with  two  bright  red  spots  in  the  midst  of 
each  weather-beaten  cheek.  Miss  Henderson  again, 
noticed  the  observant  curiosity  in  the  old  man's 
eyes.  Everybody,  indeed,  seemed  to  look  at  her 
with  the  same  expression.  As  a  woman  farmer  she 
was  no  doubt  just  a  freak,  a  sport,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  village.  Well,  she  prophesied  they  would  take 
her  seriously  before  long. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  as  much  to  show  you, 
miss,  as  I'd  like,"  said  Hastings,  as  he  helped  her 
to  alight.  "  It's  cruel  work  nowadays  trying  to  do 
anything  of  this  kind.  Two  of  the  men  that  began 
work  last  week  have  been  called  up,  and  there's 
another  been  just  'ticed  away  from  me  this  week. 


HARVEST  13 

The  wages  that  some  people  about  will  give  are  just 
mad!"  He  threw  up  his  hands.  "Colonel  Shep- 
herd says  he  can't  compete." 

Miss  Henderson  replied  civilly  but  decidedly  that 
somehow  or  other  the  work  would  have  to  be  done. 
If  Colonel  Shepherd  couldn't  find  the  wages,  she 
must  pay  the  difference.  Get  in  some  time,  during 
August,  she  must. 

The  bailiff  looked  at  her  with  a  little  sluggish  sur- 
prise. He  was  not  used  to  being  hustled,  still  less 
to  persons  who  were  ready  to  pay  rather  than  be 
kept  waiting.  He  murmured  that  he  dared  say  it 
would  be  all  right,  and  she  must  come  and  look. 

They  turned  to  the  right  up  a  stony  pitch,  through 
a  dilapidated  gate,  and  so  into  the  quadrangle  of 
the  farm.  To  the  left  was  a  long  row  of  open 
cow-sheds,  then  cow-houses  and  barns,  the  stables, 
a  large  shed  in  which  stood  an  old  and  broken  farm 
cart,  and  finally  the  house,  fronting  the  barns. 

The  house  was  little  more  than  a  large  cottage 
built  in  the  shabbiest  way  forty  years  ago,  and  of 
far  less  dignity  than  the  fine  old  barn  on  which  it 
looked.  It  abutted  at  one  end  on  the  cart-shed,  and 
between  it  and  the  line  of  cow-sheds  was  the  gate 
into  the  farmyard. 

Miss  Henderson  stepped  up  to  the  house  and 
looked  at  it. 


14  HARVEST 

"It  is  a  poor  place!"  she  said  discontentedly; 
"  and  those  men  don't  seem  to  have  done  much  to 
it  yet." 

Hastings  admitted  it.  But  they  had  done  a  little, 
he  said,  shamefacedly,  and  he  unlocked  the  door. 
Miss  Henderson  lingered  outside  a  moment. 

"  I  never  noticed,"  she  said,  "  that  the  living  room 
goes  right  through.  What  draughts  there'll  be  in 
the  winter !  " 

For  as  she  stood  looking  into  the  curtainless  win- 
dow that  fronted  the  farm-yard,  she  saw  through  it 
a  further  window  at  the  back  of  the  room,  and  be- 
yond that  a  tree.  Both  windows  were  large  and 
seemed  to  take  up  most  of  the  wall  on  either  side 
of  the  small  room.  The  effect  was  peculiarly  com- 
fortless, as  though  no  one  living  in  the  room  could 
possibly  enjoy  any  shred  of  privacy.  There  were 
no  cosy  corners  in  it  anywhere,  and  Miss  Hender- 
son's fancy  imagined  rows  of  faces  looking  in. 

Inside  a  little  papering  and  whitewashing  had 
been  done,  but  certainly  the  place  looked  remark- 
ably unviting.  A  narrow  passage  ran  from  front 
to  back,  on  one  side  of  which  was  the  living  room 
with  the  two  windows,  while  on  the  other  were  the 
kitchen  and  scullery.  Ujpstairs  there  were  two  good- 
sized  bedrooms  with  a  small  third  room  in  a  lean-to 
at  the  back,  the  lower  part  of  which  was  occupied 


HARVEST  15 

by  a  wash-house.  Through  the  windows  could  be 
seen  a  neglected  bit  of  garden,  and  an  untidy 
orchard. 

But  when  she  had  wandered  about  the  rooms  a 
little,  Rachel  Henderson's  naturally  buoyant  tem- 
perament reasserted  itself.  She  had  brought  some 
bright  patterns  of  distemper  with  her  which  she  gave 
to  Hastings  with  precise  instructions.  She  had 
visions  of  casement  curtains  to  hide  the  nakedness 
of  the  big  windows  with  warm  serge  curtains  to 
draw  over  them  in  the  winter.  The  floors  must  be 
stained.  There  should  be  a  deep  Indian-red  drugget 
in  the  sitting-room,  with  pigeon-blue  walls,  and  she 
thought  complacently  of  the  bits  of  old  furniture 
she  had  been  collecting,  which  were  stored  in  a 
friend's  flat  in  town.  An  old  dresser,  a  grand- 
father's clock,  some  bits  of  brass,  two  arm-chairs, 
an  old  oak  table — it  would  all  look  very  nice  when 
it  was  done,  and  would  cost  little.  Then  the  bed- 
rooms. She  had  brought  with  her  some  rolls  of 
flowery  paper.  She  ran  to  fetch  them  from  the 
wagonette,  and  pinned  some  pieces  against  the  wall. 
The  larger  room  with  the  south  aspect  should  be 
Janet's.  She  would  take  the  north  room  for  her- 
self. She  saw  them  both  in  her  mind's  eye  already 
comfortably  furnished;  above  all  fresh  and  bright. 
There  should  be  no  dirt  or  dinginess  in  the  house, 


1 6  HARVEST 

if  she  could  help  it.    In  the  country  whitewash  and 
distemper  are  cheap. 

Then  Hastings  followed  her  about  through  the 
farm  buildings,  where  her  quick  eye,  trained  in  mod- 
ern ways,  perceived  a  number  of  small  improve- 
ments to  be  made  that  he  would  never  have  noticed. 
She  was  always  ready,  he  saw,  to  spend  money  on 
things  that  would  save  labour  or  lessen  dirt.  But 
she  was  not  extravagant,  and  looking  through  the 
list  of  her  directions  and  commissions,  as  he  hastily 
jotted  them  down,  he  admitted  to  himself  that  she 
seemed  to  know  what  she  was  about.  And  being 
an  honest  man  himself,  and  good-tempered,  though 
rather  shy  and  dull,  he  presently  recognized  the 
same  qualities  of  honesty  and  good  temper  in  her; 
and  took  to  her.  Insensibly  their  tone  to  each  other 
grew  friendly.  Though  he  was  temporarily  in  the 
landlord's  employ,  he  had  been  for  some  years  in 
the  service  of  the  Wellin  family.  Half-consciously 
he  contrasted  Miss  Henderson's  manner  to  him  with 
theirs.  In  his  own  view  he  had  been  worse  treated 
than  an  ordinary  farm  labourer  throughout  his 
farming  life,  though  he  had  more  education,  and  was 
expected  naturally  to  have  more  brains  and  fore- 
sight than  the  labourer.  He  was  a  little  better  paid; 
but  his  work  and  that  of  his  wife  was  never  done. 
He  had  got  little  credit  for  success  and  all  the  blame 


HARVEST  17 

for  failure.  And  the  Wellin  women-folk  had  looked 
down  on  his  wife  and  himself.  A  little  patronage 
sometimes,  and  worthless  gifts,  that  burnt  in  the 
taking;  but  no  common  feeling,  no  real  respect. 
But  Miss  Henderson  was  different.  His  rather 
downtrodden  personality  felt  a  stimulus.  He  began 
to  hope  that  when  she  came  into  possession  she 
would  take  him  on.  A  woman  could  not  possibly 
make  anything  of  Great  End  without  a  bailiff ! 

Her  "  nice  "  looks,  no  doubt,  counted  for  some- 
thing. Her  face  was,  perhaps,  a  little  too  full  for 
beauty — the  delicately  coloured  cheeks  and  the  large 
smiling  mouth.  But  her  brown  eyes  were  very  fine, 
with  very  dark  pupils,  and  marked  eyebrows;  and 
her  nose  and  chin,  with  their  soft,  blunted  lines, 
seemed  to  promise  laughter  and  easy  ways.  She 
was  very  lightly  and  roundly  made;  and  everything 
about  her,  her  step,  her  sunburn,  her  freckles,  her 
evident  muscular  strength,  spoke  of  open-air  life  and 
physical  exercise.  Yet,  for  all  this  general  aspect 
of  a  comely  country-woman,  there  was  much  that 
was  sharply  sensitive  and  individual  in  the  face. 
Even  a  stranger  might  well  feel  that  its  tragic,  as 
well  as  its  humorous  or  tender  possibilities,  would 
have  to  be  reckoned  with. 

"  All  right !  "  said  Miss  Henderson  at  last,  closing 
her  little  notebook  with  a  snap,  "  now  I  think  we've 


18  HARVEST 

been  through  everything.  I'll  take  over  one  cart, 
and  Mrs.  Wellin  must  remove  the  other.  I'll  buy 
the  ckaff -cutter  and  the  dairy  things,  but  not  the 
reaping  machine " 

"  I'm  afraid  that'll  put  Mrs.  Wellin  out  consid- 
erably! "  threw  in  Hastings. 

"  Can't  help  it.  I  can't  have  the  place  cluttered 
up  with  old  iron  like  that.  It's  worth  nothing.  I'm 
sure  you  wouldn't  advise  me  to  buy  it!  " 

She  looked  with  bright  decision  at  her  companion, 
who  smiled  a  little  awkwardly,  and  said  nothing. 
The  old  long  habit  of  considering  the  Wellin  inter- 
est first,  before  any  other  in  the  world,  held  him 
still,  though  he  was  no  longer  their  servant. 

Miss  Henderson  moved  back  towards  the  house. 

"  And  you'll  hurry  these  men  up  ? — as  much  as 
you  can?  They  are  slow-coaches!  I  must  get  in 
the  week  after  next.  Miss  Leighton  and  I  intend 
to  come,  whatever  happens." 

Hastings  understood  that  "  Miss  Leighton  "  was 
to  be  Miss  Henderson's  partner  in  the  farm,  spe- 
cially to  look  after  the  dairy  work.  Miss  Henderson 
seemed  to  think  a  lot  of  her. 

"  And  you  must  please  engage  those  two  men  you 
spoke  of.  Neither  of  them,  you  say,  under  sixty! 
Well,  there's  no  picking  and  choosing  now.  If  they 
were  eighty  I  should  have  to  take  them !  till  the  har- 


HARVEST  .    19 

vest's  got  in.  There  are  two  girls  coming  from  the 
Land  Army,  and  you've  clinched  that  other  girl  from 
the  village?" 

Hastings  nodded. 

14  Well,  I  dare  say  we  shall  get  the  harvest  in 
somehow,"  she  said,  standing  at  the  gate,  and  look- 
ing over  the  fields.  "  Miss  Leighton  and  I  mean 
to  put  our  backs  into  it.  But  Miss  Leighton  isn't 
as  strong  as  I  am." 

Her  eyes  wandered  thoughtfully  over  the  wheat- 
field,  ablaze  under  the  level  gold  of  the  sun.  Then 
she  suddenly  smiled. 

"  I  expect  you  think  it  a  queer  business,  Mr. 
Hastings,  women  taking  to  farming?" 

11  Well,  it's  new,  you  see,  Miss  Henderson." 

"  I  believe  it's  going  to  be  very  common.  Why 
shouldn't  the  women  do  it!  "  She  frowned  a  little. 

"  Oh,  no  reason  at  all,"  said  Hastings  hurriedly, 
thinking  he  had  offended  her.  "  I've  nothing 
against  it  myself.  And  there  won't  be  men  enough 
to  go  round,  after  the  war." 

She  looked  at  him  sharply. 

4  You've  got  a  son  in  the  war?  " 

"  Two,  and  one's  been  killed." 

"Last  year?" 

"  No,  last  month." 

Miss  Henderson  said  nothing,  but  her  look  was 


20  HARVEST 

full  of  softness.  "  He  was  to  have  been  allowed 
home  directly,"  Hastings  went  on,  "  for  two  or 
three  months.  He  was  head  woodman  before  the 
war  on  Lord  Radley's  property."  He  pointed  to  the 
wooded  slopes  of  the  hill.  "  And  they  were  to  have 
given  him  leave  to  see  to  the  cutting  of  these 
woods." 

"  These  woods !  "  Miss  Henderson  turned  a 
startled  face  upon  him.  "  You  don't  mean  to  say 
they're  coming  down! " 

"  Half  of  them  commandeered,"  said  Hastings, 
with  a  shrug.  "  The  Government  valuers  have  been 
all  over  them  these  last  weeks.  They're  splendid 
timber,  you  know.  There's  been  a  timber  camp  the 
other  side  of  the  hills  a  long  while.  They've  got 
Canadians,  and  no  doubt  they'll  move  on  here." 

Miss  Henderson  made  another  quick  movement. 
She  said  nothing,  however.  She  was  staring  at  the 
woods,  which  shone  in  the  glow  now  steadily  creep- 
ing up  the  hill,  and  Hastings  thought  she  was  pro- 
testing from  the  scenery  point  of  view. 

"  Well,  the  Government  must  have  the  wood,"  he 
said,  with  resignation.  '*  We've  got  to  win  the  war. 
But  it  does  seem  a  pity." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  should  have  taken  the 
farm,"  she  said,  under  her  breath 

"If  you  had  known?    I  wish  I'd  thought  to  tell 


HARVEST  21 

you.  But  it  was  really  only  settled  a  few  days 
ago." 

"  I  don't  like  having  a  lot  of  strange  men  about 
the  farm,"  she  said  abruptly,  "  especially  when  I 
have  girls  to  look  after." 

"  Oh,  the  camp's  a  long  way  from  the  farm,"  he 
said  consolingly.  '  Aud  these  woods  will  come 
last." 

Still  Miss  Henderson's  face  did  not  quite  recover 
its  cheerfulness.  She  looked  at  her  watch. 

"  Don't  let  me  keep  you,  Mr.  Hastings.  I'll  lock 
up  the  house,  if  you'll  tell  me  where  to  leave  the 
key." 

He  showed  her  where  to  put  it,  in  a  corner  of  the 
stable,  for  him  to  find  on  the  morrow.  Then,  in  her 
rapid  way,  Miss  Henderson  offered  him  the  post  of 
bailiff  on  the  farm,  from  the  date  of  her  entry.  He 
agreed  at  once;  his  salary  was  settled,  and  he  de- 
parted with  a  more  cheerful  aspect  than  when  he 
arrived.  The  hopefulness  and  spring  of  youth  had 
long  since  left  him,  and  he  had  dreaded  the  new 
experience  of  this  first  meeting  with  a  woman- 
farmer,  from  whom  he  desired  employment  simply 
because  he  was  very  badly  off,  he  was  getting  old, 
and  Mr.  Wellin's  widow  had  treated  him  shabbily. 
He  had  lost  his  nerve  for  new  ventures.  But  Miss 
Henderson  had  made  things  easy.  She  had  struck 


22  HARVEST 

him  as  considerate  and  sensible — a  "  good  sort." 
He  would  do  his  best  for  her. 

Rachel  Henderson,  left  to  herself,  did  not  imme- 
diately re-enter  the  house.  She  went  with  a  face  on 
which  the  cloud  still  rested  to  look  at  the  well  which 
was  to  be  found  under  the  cart-shed,  at  the  eastern 
end  of  the  house. 

It  was  covered  with  a  wooden  lid  which  she  re- 
moved. Under  the  shed  roof  there  was  but  little 
light  left.  A  faint  gleam  showed  the  level  of  the 
water,  which,  owing  to  the  long  drought,  was  very 
low.  Hastings  had  told  her  that  the  well  was  ex- 
tremely deep — 150  feet  at  least,  and  inexhaustible. 
The  water  was  chalky  but  good.  It  would  have  to 
be  pumped  up  every  morning  for  the  supply  of  the 
house  and  stables. 

The  well  had  a  brick  margin.  Rachel  sat  down 
upon  it,  her  eyes  upon  that  distant  gleam  below. 
The  dusk  was  fast  possessing  itself  of  all  the  farm, 
and  an  evening  wind  was  gustily  blowing  through 
the  cart-shed,  playing  with  some  old  guano  sacks 
that  had  been  left  there,  and  whistling  round  the 
corners  of  the  house.  Outside,  Rachel  could  hear 
the  horse  fidgeting,  and  old  Jonathan  coughing — no 
doubt  as  a  signal  to  her  that  she  had  kept  him  long 
enough. 


HARVEST  23 

Still,  she  sat  bent  together  on  the  margin  of  the 
well.  Then  she  drew  off  her  glove,  and  felt  for 
something  in  the  leather  bag  she  carried  on  her 
wrist.  She  took  it  out,  and  the  small  object  sparkled 
a  little  as  she  held  it  poised  for  a  moment — as 
though  considering.  Then  with  a  rapid  movement, 
she  bent  over  the  well,  and  dropped  it  into  the 
water.  There  was  a  slight  splash. 

Rachel  Henderson  raised  herself  and  stood  up. 

''That's  done  with!  "  she  said  to  herself,  with  a 
straightening  of  all  her  young  frame. 

Yet  all  the  way  back  to  London  she  was  tor- 
mented by  thoughts  of  what  she  had  declared  was 
"  done  with  ";  of  scenes  and  persons,  that  is,  which 
she  was  determined  to  forget,  and  had  just  formally 
renounced  for  ever  by  her  symbolic  action  at  the 
well. 


II 


"XT'  OU  do  seem  to  have  hit  on  a  rather  nice 
spot,  Rachel,  though  lonesome,"  said  Miss 
Henderson's    friend    and    partner,    Janet 
Leighton,  as  they  stood  on  the  front  steps  of  Great 
End    Farm,    surveying   the    scene    outside,    on    an 
August  evening,  about  a  week  after  she  and  Rachel 
had  arrived  with  their  furniture  and  personal  be- 
longings to  take  possession  of  the  farm. 

During  that  week  they  had  both  worked  hard — 
from  dawn  till  dark,  both  outside  and  in.  The 
harvest  was  in  full  swing,  and  as  the  dusk  was  fall- 
ing, Janet  Leighton,  who  had  just  returned  herself 
from  the  fields,  could  watch  the  scene  going  on  in 
the  wheat-field  beyond  the  farm-yard,  where,  as  the 
reaping  machine  steadily  pared  away  the  remaining 
square  of  wheat,  two  or  three  men  arid  boys  with 
guns  lay  in  wait  outside  the  square  for  the  rabbits 
as  they  bolted  from  their  fast  lessening  shelter. 
The  gold  and  glow  of  harvest  was  on  the  fields  and 
in  the  air.  At  last  the  sun  had  come  back  to  a  sod- 
den land,  after  weeks  of  cold  and  drenching  showers 

24 


HARVEST  25 

which,  welcomed  in  June,  had  by  the  middle  of 
August  made  all  England  tremble  for  the  final  fate 
of  the  gorgeous  crops  then  filling  the  largest  area 
ever  tilled  on  British  soil  with  their  fat  promise. 
Wheat,  oats,  and  barley  stood  once  more  erect,  roots 
were  saved,  and  the  young  vicar  of  Ipscombe  was 
reflecting  as  he  walked  towards  Great  End  Farm 
that  his  harvest  festival  sermon  might  now  after  all 
be  rather  easier  to  write  than  had  seemed  probable 
during  the  foregoing  anxious  weeks  of  chill  and 
storm. 

Rachel  Henderson,  who  had  thrown  herself — > 
tired  out — into  a  chair  in  the  sitting-room  window, 
which  was  wide  open,  nodded  as  she  caught  her 
friend's  remark  and  smiled.  But  she  did  not  want 
to  talk.  She  was  in  that  state  of  physical  fatigue 
when  mere  rest  is  a  positive  delight.  The  sun,  the 
warm  air,  the  busy  harvest  scene,  and  all  the  long 
hours  of  hard  but  pleasant  work  seemed  to  be  still 
somehow  in  her  pulses,  thrilling  through  her  blood. 
It  was  long  since  she  had  known  the  acute  physical 
pleasure  of  such  a  day;  but  her  sense  of  it  had  con- 
jured up  involuntarily  recollections  of  many  similar 
days  in  a  distant  scene — great  golden  spaces,  blind- 
ing sun,  and  huge  reaping  machines,  twice  the  size 
of  that  at  work  in  the  field  yonder.  The  recollec- 
tions were  unwelcome.  Thought  was  unwelcome. 


26  HARVEST 

She  wanted  only  food  and  sleep — deep  sleep — re- 
newing her  tired  muscles,  till  the  delicious  early 
morning  came  round  again,  and  she  was  once  more 
in  the  fields  directing  her  team  of  workers. 

"  Why,  there's  the  vicar !  "  said  Janet  Leighton, 
perceiving  the  tall  and  willowy  figure  of  Mr.  Shen- 
stone,  as  its  owner  stopped  to  speak  to  one  of  the 
boys  with  the  guns  who  were  watching  the  game. 

Rachel  looked  round  with  a  look  of  annoyance. 

"  Oh,  dear,  what  a  bore,"  she  said  wearily.  "  I 
suppose  I  must  go  and  tidy  up.  Nobody  ought  to 
be  allowed  to  pay  visits  after  five  o'clock." 

"  You  asked  him  something  about  a  village  woman 
to  help,  didn't  you?" 

"I  did,  worse  luck!"  sighed  Rachel,  gathering 
up  her  sunbonnet  and  disappearing  from  the  win- 
dow. Janet  heard  her  go  upstairs,  and  a  hasty 
opening  of  cupboards  overhead.  She  herself  had 
come  back  an  hour  earlier  from  the  fields  than 
Rachel  in  order  to  get  supper  ready,  and  had  slipped 
a  skirt  over  the  khaki  tunic  and  knickerbockers 
which  were  her  dress — and  her  partner's — when  at 
work  on  the  farm.  She  wondered  mischievously 
what  Rachel  would  put  on.  That  her  character  in- 
cluded an  average  dose  of  vanity,  the  natural  vanity 
of  a  handsome  woman,  Rachel's  new  friend  was 
well  aware.  But  Janet,  Rachel's  elder  by  five  years, 


HARVEST  27 

was  only  tenderly  amused  by  it.  All  Rachel's 
foibles,  as  far  as  she  knew  them,  were  pleasant  to 
her.  They  were  in  that  early  stage  of  a  new  friend- 
ship when  all  is  glamour. 

Yet  Janet  did  sometimes  reflect,  "  How  little  I 
really  know  about  her.  She  is  a  darling — but  a  mys- 
tery!" 

They  had  met  at  college,  taken  their  farm  train- 
ing together,  and  fallen  in  love  with  each  other. 
Janet  had  scarcely  a  relation  in  the  world.  Rachel 
possessed,  it  seemed,  a  brother  in  Canada,  another 
in  South  Africa,  and  some  cousins  whom  she  scarcely 
knew,  children  of  the  uncle  who  had  left  her  three 
thousand  pounds.  Each  had  been  attracted  by  the 
loneliness  of  the  other,  and  on  leaving  college  noth- 
ing was  more  natural  than  they  should  agree  to  set 
up  together.  Rachel,  as  the  capitalist,  was  to  choose 
the  farm  and  take  command.  Janet  went  to  a 
Cheshire  dairy  farm  for  a  time  to  get  some  further 
training  in  practical  work;  and  she  was  now  respon- 
sible for  the  dairy  at  Great  End,  with  the  house- 
keeping and  the  poultry  thrown  in.  She  was  a  thin, 
tall  woman  with  spectacles,  and  had  just  seen  her 
thirty-second  birthday.  Her  eyes  were  honest  and 
clear,  her  mouth  humorous.  She  never  grudged 
other  women  their  beauty  or  their  success.  It  always 
seemed  to  her  she  had  what  she  deserved. 


28  HARVEST 

Meanwhile  the  vicar  approached,  and  Miss 
Leighton  descended  the  steps  and  went  to  meet 
him  at  the  gate.  His  aspect  showed  him  apolo- 
getic. 

"  I  have  come  at  an  unearthly  hour,  Miss  Leigh- 
ton.  But  I  thought  I  should  have  no  chance  of 
finding  Miss  Henderson  free  till  the  evening,  and 
I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  think  I  have  found  a  woman 
to  do  your  work." 

Janet  bade  him  come  in,  and  assured  him  that 
Rachel  would  soon  be  visible.  She  ushered  him  into 
the  sitting-room,  which  he  entered  on  a  note  of 
wonderment. 

"  How  nice  you  have  made  it  all,"  he  said,  look- 
ing round  him.  '  When  I  think  what  a  deserted 
hole  this  has  been  for  years.  You  know,  the  village 
people  firmly  believe  it  is  haunted?  Old  Wellin 
never  could  get  anybody  to  sleep  here.  But  tramps 
often  used  it,  I'm  certain.  They  got  in  through  the 
windows.  Hastings  told  me  he  had  several  times 
found  a  smouldering  fire  in  the  kitchen." 

"What  sort  is  the  ghost?"  Janet  inquired,  as 
she  pointed  him  to  a  chair,  devoutly  hoping  that 
Rachel  would  hurry  herself. 

;'  Well,  there's  a  story — but  I  wonder  whether  I 
ought  to  tell  you " 

"  I  assure  you  as  to  ghosts — I  have  no  nerves !  " 


HARVEST  29 

said  Janet  with  a  confident  laugh,  "  and  I  don't  think 
Rachel  has  either.  We  are  more  frightened  of  rats. 
This  farm-yard  contains  the  biggest  I've  ever  seen. 
I  dream  of  them  at  night." 

"  It's  not  exactly  the  ghost "  said  the  vicar, 

hesitating. 

"  But  the  story  that  produced  the  ghost?  What 
— a  murder?  " 

"  Half  a  century  ago,"  said  the  vicar  reassur- 
ingly; "you  won't  mind  that?" 

"  Not  the  least.  !A  century  ago  would  be  roman- 
tic. If  it  was  just  the  other  day,  we  should  feel  we 
ought  to  have  got  the  farm  cheaper.  But  half 
a  century  doesn't  matter.  It's  a  mid-Victorian, 
just  a  plain,  old-fashioned  murder.  Who  did 
it?" 

The  vicar  opened  his  eyes  a  little.  Miss 
Leighton  was,  he  saw,  a  lady,  and  perhaps  clever. 
Her  spectacles  looked  like  it.  No  doubt  she  had 
been  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge  before  going  to 
Swanley?  These  educated  women  in  new  profes- 
sions were  becoming  a  very  pressing  and  common 
fact!  As  to  the  murder,  he  explained  that  it  had 
been  just  an  ordinary  poaching  affair.  An  old 
gamekeeper  on  the  Shepherd  estate  had  been  at- 
tacked by  a  gang  of  poachers  in  the  winter  of  1866. 
He  had  been  shot  in  one  of  the  woods,  and  though 


30  HARVEST 

mortally  wounded  had  been  able  to  drag  himself 
to  the  outskirts  of  the  farm  where  his  strength  had 
failed  him.  He  was  found  dead  under  the  cart- 
shed  which  backed  on  the  stables,  and  the  traces  of 
blood  on  the  hill  marked  the  stages  of  his  struggle 
for  life.  Two  men  were  suspected,  one  of  them  a 
labourer  on  the  Great  End  Farm;  but  there  was 
no  evidence.  The  suspected  labourer  had  gone  to 
Canada  the  year  after  the  murder,  and  no  one  knew 
what  had  happened  to  him. 

But  having  told  the  tale  the  vicar  was  again  seized 
with  compunction. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  have  told  you — I  really  oughtn't; 
just  on  your  settling  in — I  hope  you  won't  tell  Miss 
Henderson?  " 

Janet's  amused  reply  was  interrupted  by  Rachel's 
entrance.  The  vicar  arose  with  eagerness  to  receive 
her.  He  was  evidently  attracted  by  his  new  parish- 
ioners and  anxious  to  make  a  good  impression  on 
them.  Miss  Henderson's  reception  of  the  vicar, 
however,  was  far  more  guarded.  The  easy  friend- 
liness of  manner  which  had  attracted  the  bailiff 
Hastings  was,  at  first  at  any  rate,  entirely  absent. 
Her  attitude  was  almost  that  of  a  woman  defending 
herself  against  possible  intrusion,  and  Janet  Leigh- 
ton,  looking  on,  and  occasionally  sharing  in  the 
conversation,  was  surprised  by  it,  as  indeed  she 


HARVEST  31 

was  bv  so  many  things  concerning  Rachel  now  that 
their  acquaintance  was  deepening;  surprised  also,  as 
though  it  were  a  new  thing,  by  her  friend's  good 
looks  as  she  sat  languidly  chatting  with  the  vicar. 
Rachel  had  merely  put  on  a  blue  overall  above  her 
land-worker's  dress.  But  her  beautiful  head,  with 
its  wealth  of  brown  hair,  and  her  face,  with  its  sen- 
suous fulness  of  cheek  and  lip,  its  rounded  lines, 
and  lovely  colour — like  a  slightly  overblown  rose — 
were  greatly  set  off  by  the  simple  folds  of  blue 
linen;  and  her  feet  and  legs,  shapely  but  not  small, 
in  their  khaki  stockings  and  shoes,  completed  the 
general  effect  of  lissom  youth.  The  flush  and  heat 
of  hard  bodily  work  had  passed  away.  She  had  had 
time  to  plunge  her  face  into  cold  water  and  smooth 
her  hair.  But  the  atmosphere  of  the  harvest  field, 
its  ripeness  and  glow,  seemed  to  be  still  about  her. 
A  classically  minded  man  might  have  thought  of 
some  nymph  in  the  train  of  Demeter,  might  have 
fancied  a  horn  of  plenty,  or  a  bow,  slung  from  the 
sunburnt  neck. 

But  the  vicar  had  forgotten  his  classics.  En 
revanche,  however,  he  was  doing  his  best  to  show 
himself  sympathetic  and  up-to-date  with  regard  to 
women  and  their  new  spheres  of  work — especially 
on  the  land.  He  had  noticed  three  girls,  he  said, 
working  in  the  harvest  field.  Two  of  them  he  rec- 


32  HARVEST 

ognized  as  from  the  village;  the  third  he  supposed 
was  a  stranger? 

"  She  comes  from  Ralstone,"  said  Rachel. 

"  Ah,  that's  the  village  where  the  new  timber 
camp  is.  You  really  must  see  that  camp,  Miss  Hen- 
derson." 

"  I  hate  to  think  of  the  woods  coming  down,"  she 
said,  frowning  a  little. 

"  We  all  do.  But  that's  the  war.  It  can't  be 
helped,  alack !  But  it's  wonderful  to  see  the  women 
at  work,  measuring  and  checking,  doing  the  brain 
work,  in  fact,  while  the  men  do  the  felling  and  load- 
ing. It  makes  one  envious." 

The  vicar  sighed.  A  flush  appeared  on  his  young 
but  slightly  cadaverous  face. 

"  Of  the  men — or  the  women?  " 

"  Oh,  their  work,  I  mean.  They're  doing  some- 
thing for  the  war.  I've  done  my  best.  But  the 
Bishop  won't  hear  of  it." 

And  he  rather  emphatically  explained  how  he  had 
applied  in  vain  for  an  army  chaplaincy.  Health  and 
the  shortage  of  clergy  had  been  against  him.  "  I 
suppose  there  must  be  some  left  at  home,"  he  said 
with  a  shrug,  "  and  the  doctors  seem  to  have  a  down 


on  me." 


Janet  was  quite  sorry  for  the  young  man — he  was 
so  eagerly  apologetic,  so  anxious  to  propitiate  what 


HARVEST  33 

he  imagined  ought  to  be  their  feelings  about  him. 
And  Rachel  all  the  time  sat  so  silent  and  unrespon- 
sive. 

Miss  Leighton  drew  the  conversation  back  to  the 
timber  camp;  she  would  like  to  go  and  see  it,  she 
said.  Every  one  knew  the  Canadians  were  wonder- 
ful lumbermen. 

The  Vicar's  eyes  had  travelled  back  to  Rachel. 

"Were  you  ever  in  Canada,  Miss  Henderson?" 
The  question  was  evidently  thrown  out  nervously  at 
a  venture,  just  to  evoke  a  word  or  a  smile  from  the 
new  mistress  of  the  farm. 

Rachel  Henderson  frowned  slightly  before  reply- 
ing. 

'  Yes,  I  have  been  in  Canada." 

'  You  have  ?     Oh,  then,  you  know  all  about  it." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  Canadian  lumbering." 

'You  were  on  the  prairies?" 

"  I  lived  some  time  on  a  prairie  farm." 

"  Everything  here  must  seem  very  small  to  you," 
said  the  vicar  sympathetically.  But  this  amiable 
tone  fell  flat.  Miss  Henderson  still  sat  silent.  The 
vicar  began  to  feel  matters  awkward  and  took  his 
hat  from  the  floor. 

"  I  trust  you  will  call  upon  me  for  any  help  I  can 
possibly  be  to  you,"  he  said,  turning  to  Janet 
Leighton.  "  I  should  be  delighted  to  help  in  the 


34  HARVEST 

harvest  if  you  want  it.  I  have  a  pair  of  hands  any- 
way, as  you  see !  "  He  held  them  out. 

He  expatiated  a  little  more  on  his  disappoint- 
ment as  to  the  front.  Janet  threw  in  a  few  civil 
words.  Rachel  Henderson  had  moved  to  the  win- 
dow, and  was  apparently  looking  at  the  farm-girls 
carrying  straw  across  the  yard. 

"  Good-night,  Miss  Henderson,"  said  the  young 
man  at  last,  conscious  of  rebuff,  but  irrepressibly 
effusive  and  friendly  all  the  time.  "  I  hope  you  will 
let  your  Ralstone  girl  come  sometimes  to  the  club- 
room  my  sister  and  I  have  in  the  village?  We  feel 
young  people  ought  to  be  amused,  especially  when 
they  work  hard." 

"  Thank  you,  but  it's  so  far  away.  We  don't  like 
them  to  be  out  late." 

"  Certainly  not.  But  in  the  long  evenings — don't 
you  know?"  The  vicar  smiled  persuasively. 
"  However,  there  it  is — whenever  she  comes  she 
will  be  welcome.  And  then,  as  to  your  seat  in 
church.  There  is  a  pew  that  has  always  belonged 
to  the  farm.  It  is  about  half-way  up." 

"  We  don't  go  to  church,"  said  Rachel,  facing 
him.  "  At  least,  I  don't."  She  looked  at  her  com- 
panion. 

"  And  I  can't  be  counted  on,"  said  Janet,  smil- 
ing. 


HARVEST  35 

The  vicar  flushed  a  little. 

"Then  you're  not  Church  of  England?" 

"I  am,"  said  Rachel  indifferently;  "at  least  I'm 
not  anything  else.  Miss  Leighton  is  a  Unitarian." 
Then  her  eyes  lit  up  with  a  touch  of  fun,  and  for 
the  first  time  she  smiled.  "  I'm  afraid  you'll  think 
us  dreadful  heathens,  Mr.  Shenstone !  " 

What  the  vicar  did  think  was  that  he  had  never 
seen  a  smile  transform  a  face  so  agreeably.  And 
having  begun  to  smile,  Rachel  perversely  continued 
it.  She  walked  to  the  gate  with  her  visitor,  talking 
with  irrelevant  animation,  inviting  him  to  come  the 
following  day  to  help  in  the  "  carrying,"  asking 
questions  about  the  village  and  its  people,  and  gra- 
ciously consenting  to  fix  a  day  when  she  and  her 
friend  would  go  to  tea  with  Miss  Shenstone  at  the 
vicarage.  The  young  man  fairly  beamed  under  the 
unexpected  change,  and  lingered  at  the  gate  as 
though  unable  to  tear  himself  away;  till  with  a  little 
peremptory  nod,  though  still  smiling,  Rachel  dis* 
missed  him. 

Janet  Leighton  meanwhile  watched  it  all.  She 
had  seen  Rachel  treat  a  new  male  acquaintance  be- 
fore as  she  had  just  treated  the  vicar.  To  begin 
with,  the  manners  of  an  icicle;  then  a  sudden  thaw, 
just  in  time  to  save  the  situation.  She  had  come 
with,  amusement  to  the  conclusion  that,  however. 


36  HARVEST 

really  indifferent  or  capricious,  her  new  friend  could 
not  in  the  long  run  resign  herself  to  be  disliked, 
even  by  a  woman,  and  much  more  in  the  case  of  a 
man.  Was  it  vanity,  or  sex,  or  both?  Tempera- 
ment perhaps;  the  modern  word  which  covers  so 
much.  Janet  remembered  a  little  niece  of  her  own 
who  in  her  mother's  absence  entertained  a  gentle- 
man visitor  with  great  success.  When  asked  for  his 
name,  she  shook  her  pretty  head.  "  Just  a  man, 
mummy,"  she  said,  bridling.  Janet  Leighton  sus- 
pected that  similar  tales  might  have  been  told  of 
Miss  Henderson  in  her  babyhood. 

And  yet  impressions  recurred  to  her  of  another 
kind — of  a  sensitive,  almost  fierce  delicacy — a 
shrinking  from  the  ugly  or  merely  physical  facts  of 
life,  as  of  one  who  had  suffered  some  torment  in 
connection  with  them. 

Janet's  eyes  followed  the  curly  brown  head  as  its 
possessor  came  slowly  back  from  the  gate.  She  was 
thinking  of  a  moment  when,  one  evening,  while  they 
were  both  still  at  college,  they  had  realized  their 
liking  for  each  other,  and  had  agreed  to  set  up  in 
partnership.  Then  Rachel,  springing  to  her  feet, 
with  her  hands  behind  her,  and  head  thrown  back, 
had  said  suddenly:  "I  warn  you,  I  have  a  story. 
I  don't  want  to  tell  you,  to  tell  anybody.  I  shan't 
tell  you.  It's  done  with.  I  give  you  my  word  that 


HARVEST  37" 

I'm  not  a  bad  woman.     But  if  you  don't  want  to  be 
my  partner  on  these  terms,  say  so!  " 

And  Janet  had  felt  no  difficulty  whatever  in  be- 
coming Rachel  Henderson's  partner  on  these  terms. 
Nor  had  she  ever  yet  regretted  it. 

The  light  farm  cart  which  had  been  sent  to  the 
station  for  stores  drove  up  to  the  yard  gate  as 
Rachel  left  it.  She  turned  back  to  receive  some  par- 
cels handed  out  by  the  u  exempted  "  man  who  drove 
it,  together  with  some  letters  which  had  been  found 
lying  at  the  village  post  office.  Two  of  the  letters 
were  for  Janet.  She  sent  them  up  to  the  house,  and 
went  herself  towards  the  harvest  field. 

There  they  stood — the  rows  of  golden  "  shocks  " 
or  stooks.  The  "  shockers  "  had  just  finished  their 
day's  work.  She  could  hear  the  footsteps  of  the 
last  batch,  a  cheerful  chatter,  while  talk  and 
laughter  came  softened  through  the  evening  air. 
The  man  who  had  been  driving  the  reaping  machine 
was  doing  some  rough  repairs  to  it  in  a  far  corner 
of  the  field,  with  a  view  to  the  morrow,  and  she 
caught  sight  of  her  new  bailiff,  Hastings,  who  had 
waited  to  see  everybody  off,  disappearing  towards 
his  own  cottage,  which  stood  on  a  lonely  spur  of 
the  down.  The  light  was  fast  going,  but  the  deep 
glow  of  the  western  sky  answered  the  paler  gold 


38  HARVEST 

of  the  new-made  stubble  and  the  ranged  stocks, 
while  between  rose  the  dark  and  splendid  masses 
of  the  woods. 

Rachel  stood  looking  at  the  scene,  possessed  by  a 
pleasure  which  in  her  was  always  an  ardour.  She 
felt  nothing  by  halves.  The  pulse  of  life  beat  in 
her  still  with  an  energy,  a  passion,  that  astonished 
herself.  She  was  full  of  eagerness  for  her  new  work 
and  for  success  in  it,  full  of  desires,  too,  for  vague, 
half-seen  things,  things  she  had  missed  so  far — her 
own  fault.  But  somewhere  in  the  long,  hidden 
years,  they  must,  they  should  be  waiting  for  her. 

The  harvest  was  magnificent.  She  had  paid  the 
Wellins  a  high  price  for  the  standing  crops,  but 
there  was  going  to  be  a  profit  on  her  bargain.  Her 
mind  was  full  of  schemes,  if  only  she  could  get  the 
labour  to  carry  them  out.  Farming  was  now  on 
the  up-grade.  She  had  come  into  it  at  the  very  best 
moment,  and  England  would  never  let  farming  go 
down  again,  after  the  war,  for  her  own  safety's 
sake. 

The  War!  She  felt  towards  it  as  to  some  distant 
force,  which,  so  far  as  she  personally  was  concerned, 
was  a  force  for  good.  Owing  to  the  war,  farming 
was  booming  all  over  England,  and  she  was  in  the 
boom,  taking  advantage  of  it.  Yet  she  was  ashamed 
to  think  of  the  war  only  in  that  way.  She  tried  to 


HARVEST  39 

tame  the  strange  ferment  in  her  blood,  and  could 
only  do  it  by  reminding  herself  of  Hastings's 
wounded  son,  whose  letter  he  had  showed  her. 
And  then — in  imagination — she  began  to  see  thou- 
sands of  others  like  him,  in  hospital  beds,  or  lying 
dead  in  trampled  fields.  Her  mood  softened,  the 
tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

Suddenly — a  slight  whimper — a  child's  whimper 
— close  beside  her.  She  paused  in  amazement,  look- 
ing round  her,  till  the  whimper  was  renewed;  and 
there,  almost  at  her  feet,  cradled  in  the  fragrant 
hollow  of  a  wheat  stook,  she  saw  a  tiny  child — > 
a  baby  about  a  year  old,  a  fair,  plump  thing,  just 
waking  from  sleep. 

At  sight  of  the  face  bending  over  her,  the  child 
set  up  a  louder  cry,  which  was  not  angry,  however, 
only  forlorn.  The  tears  welled  fast  into  her  blue 
eyes.  She  looked  piteously  at  Rachel. 

"Mummy,  mummy!" 

"  You  poor  little  thing!  "  said  Rachel.  "  Whose 
are  you?  " 

One  of  the  village  women  who  had  been  helping 
in  the  "  shocking,"  she  supposed,  had  brought  the 
child.  She  had  noticed  a  little  girl  playing  about 
the  reapers  in  the  afternoon — no  doubt  an  elder 
sister  brought  to  look  after  the  baby.  Between  the 
mother  and  the  sister  there  must  have  been  some 


40  HARVEST 

confusion,  and  one  or  other  would  come  running 
back  directly. 

But  meanwhile  she  took  up  the  child,  who  at  first 
resisted  passionately,  fighting  with  all  its  chubby 
strength  against  the  strange  arms.  But  Rachel 
seemed  to  have  a  way  with  her — a  spell,  which 
worked.  She  bent  over  the  little  thing,  soothing  and 
cooing  to  her,  and  then  finding  a  few  crumbs  of 
cake  in  the  pocket  of  her  overall,  the  remains  of 
her  own  lunch  in  the  field,  she  daintily  fed  the  rosy 
mouth,  till  the  sobs  ceased  and  the  child  stared  up- 
wards in  a  sleep  wonder,  her  blue  eyes  held  by  the 
brown  ones  above  her. 

"Mummy!"  she  repeated,  still  whimpering 
slightly. 

"  Mummy's  coming,"  said  Rachel  tenderly. 
"What  a  duck  it  is!" 

iAnd  bending,  she  kissed  the  soft,  downy  cheek 
greedily,  with  the  same  ardour  she  had  just  been 
throwing  into  her  own  dreams  of  success. 

She  carried  the  child,  now  quiet  and  comforted, 
towards  the  house.  The  warm  weight  upon  her 
arms  was  delicious  to  her.  Only  as  she  neared  the 
gate  in  the  now  moonlit  dusk,  her  lips  quivered 
suddenly,  and  two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks. 

"  I     haven't    carried    a     child,"    she     thought, 


HARVEST  41 

Suddenly  there  was  a  shout  from  the  farther  gate 
of  the  harvest  field,  and  a  girl  came  running  at  top 
speed.  It  was  the  little  one's  elder  sister,  and  with 
a  proper  scolding,  Rachel  gave  up  her  prize. 

The  two  land-girls  had  finished  giving  food  and 
water  to  the  cattle  and  a  special  mush  to  new-born 
calves.  Everything  was  now  in  order  for  the  night, 
and  Janet,  standing  on  the  steps  of  the  farm-house, 
rang  a  bell,  which  meant  that  supper  would  be  ready 
in  a  few  minutes.  The  two  partners  and  their  em- 
ployees were  soon  gathered  round  the  table  in  the 
kitchen,  which  was  also  the  dining-room.  It  was  a 
cold  meal  of  bacon,  with  lettuce,  bread  and  jam, 
some  tea  made  on  a  "  Tommy's  cooker,"  and 
potatoes  which  Janet,  who  was  for  the  present- 
housekeeper  and  cook,  produced  hot  and  steaming 
from  the  hay-box  to  which  she  had  consigned  them 
after  the  midday  dinner.  A  small  oil-lamp  had  been 
lit,  and  through  the  open  windows  afterglow  and 
moonrise  streamed  in  to  mingle  with  its  light. 
There  was  a  pot  of  flowers  on  the  table — purple 
scabious,  and  tall  cow-parsley,  gathered  from  the 
orchard,  where  no  one  had  yet  had  time  to  cut  the 
ragged  hay  beneath  the  trees. 

The  scene  was  typical  of  a  new  England.  Women 
governing — and  women  serving — they  were  all  alike 


42  HARVEST 

making  their  way  through  new  paths  to  new  ends. 
It  was  no  household  in  the  ordinary  sense.  The 
man  was  wanting.  The  two  elder  women  were 
bound  to  the  two  younger  by  a  purely  business  tie, 
which  might  or  might  not  develop  into  something 
more  personal.  The  two  land-lasses  had  come  to 
supper  in  their  tunics  and  breeches,  while  Rachel 
Henderson  and  Janet  had  now  both  put  on  the 
coloured  overalls  which  disguised  the  masculine  garb 
beneath,  and  gave  them  something  of  the  usual 
feminine  air.  Rachel's  overall,  indeed,  was  both 
pretty  and  artistic,  embroidered  a  little  here  and 
there,  and  showing  a  sunburnt  throat  beneath  the 
rounded  chin. 

The  talk  turned  on  the  day's  work,  the  weather 
prospects,  the  vagaries  of  the  cows  at  milking  time, 
and  those  horrid  little  pests  the  "  harvesters,"  which 
haunt,  the  chalk  soils.  The  two  "  hands  "  were  clear 
by  now  that  they  liked  Miss  Leighton  the  best  of 
the  two  ladies,  they  hardly  knew  why.  Betty  Rolfe, 
the  younger  of  them,  who  came  from  Ralstone,  was 
a  taking  creature,  with  deep  black,  or  rather  violet, 
eyes,  small  features  framed  in.  curly  hair,  and  the 
bloom  of  ripe  fruit.  She  was  naturally  full  of 
laughter  and  talk,  and  only  spoilt  by  her  discoloured 
and  uneven  teeth,  which  showed  the  usual  English 
neglect  of  such  things  in  childhood. 


HARVEST  43 

Her  companion,  Jenny  Harberton,  was  a  much 
more  ordinary  type,  with  broad  cheeks,  sandy  hair, 
and  a  perpetual  friendly  grin,  which  generally  served 
her  instead  of  speech,  at  least  in  her  employer's 
presence.  She  was  a  capital  milker,  and  a  good 
honest  child.  Her  people  lived  in  the  village,  and 
her  forebears  had  always  lived  there.  They  were 
absolutely  indigenous  and  autochthonous — a  far 
older  Brookshire  family  than  any  of  the  dwellers 
in  the  big  houses  about. 

Then  in  the  midst  of  a  loving  report  by  Betty  on 
the  virtues  and  docility  of  a  beautiful  Jersey  cow 
who  was  the  pride  of  Miss  Henderson's  new  herd, 
Janet  Leighton  remembered  one  of  her  letters  of 
the  evening  and  drew  it  out  of  her  pocket. 

"  Who  do  you  think  is  going  to  be — is  already — 
the  commandant  of  the  timber  girls  in  the  new 
camp?  " 

Rachel  couldn't  guess. 

'  You  remember  Mrs.  Fergusson — at  College  ?  " 

Rachel  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"The  Irish  lady?    Perfectly." 

;'  Well,  it's  she.  She  writes  to  me  to  say  she  is 
quite  settled,  with  thirty  girls,  that  the  work  is 
fascinating,  and  they  all  love  it,  and  you  and  I  must 
go  over  to  see  her." 

Rachel  looked  irresponsive. 


44  HARVEST 

"  It's  a  long  way." 

"  Oh,  Miss,"  said  Jenny  Harberton  timidly,  "  it's 
not  so  very  far.  An'  it's  lovely  when  you  get  there. 
Father  was  there  last  week,  drivin'  some  orficers. 
He  says  it  is  interestin' !  " 

Jenny's  father,  a  plumber  in  the  village,  owned  a 
humble  open  car  which  was  in  perpetual  request. 

"  There  are  a  hundred  Canadians  apparently," 
said  Janet  Leighton,  looking  at  her  letter,  "  and 
German  prisoners,  quite  a  good  few,  and  these  thirty 
girls.  Mrs.  Fergusson  begs  us  to  come.  Sunday's 
no  good  because  we  couldn't  see  the  work,  but — • 
after  the  harvest?  We  could  get  there  with  the 
pony  quite  well." 

Rachel  said  nothing. 

Janet  Leighton  dropped  the  subject  for  the  mo- 
ment, but  after  supper,  with  her  writing-desk  on 
her  knee,  she  returned  to  it. 

"Can't  you  go  without  me?"  said  Rachel,  who 
was  standing  with  her  back  to  the  room,  looking  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Well,  I  could,"  said  Janet,  feeling  rather  puz- 
zled, "  but  I  thought  you  were  curious  to  see  these 
new  kinds  of  work  for  women?" 

"  So  I  am.    It  isn't  the  women." 

"The  German  prisoners,  then?"  laughed  Janet 

"  Heavens,  no  1 " 


HARVEST  45 

'The  Canadians?"  asked  Janet — in  wonder — 
after  a  moment.  Rachel  turned  abruptly  towards 
her. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  have  exactly  a  good  time  in 
Canada,"  she  said,  as  though  the  admission  was 
dragged  out  of  her;  adding  immediately,  "but  of 
course  I'll  go — sometime — after  the  harvest." 

On  which  she  left  the  room,  and  presently  Janet 
saw  her  wandering  among  the  stocks  in  the  gloam- 
ing, her  hands  behind  her  back.  She  seemed  in  her 
ripe  and  comely  youth  to  be  somehow  the  very  spirit 
of  the  harvest. 

A  little  later,  just  before  ten  o'clock,  while  the 
sunset  glow  was  still  brooding  on  the  harvest  fields, 
the  two  farm-girls,  after  a  last  visit  to  the  cows, 
slipped  into  the  little  sitting-room.  Janet,  who  was 
mending  her  Sunday  dress,  greeted  them  with  a 
smile  and  a  kind  word.  Then  she  moved  to  the  table 
and  took  up  a  New  Testament  that  was  lying  there. 
She  was  an  ardent  and  mystically-minded  Unitarian, 
and  her  mind  was  much  set  towards  religion. 

"  Shall  we  have  prayers  at  night?"  she  had  said 
quite  simply  to  the  farm-girls  on  their  arrival. 
"  Don't  if  you  don't  want  to."  And  l!hey  had  shyly 
said  "  yes  " — not  particularly  attracted  by  the  pro- 
posal, but  willing  to  please  Miss  Leighton,  who  was 
always  nice  to  them. 


46  HARVEST 

So  Janet  read  some  verses  from  the  sixth  chapter 
of  St.  John :  "  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  he  that 
believeth  on  Me  hath  everlasting  life.  ...  I  am 
the  Bread  of  Life.  ...  I  am  the  living  Bread 
which  came  down  from  Heaven.  .  .  .  The  words 
that  I  speak  unto  you  they  are  spirit  and  they  are 
life." 

Closing  the  book,  while  her  quiet  eyes  shone  in  the 
gleaming  dusk,  she  said  a  few  simple  things  about 
the  Words  of  Christ,  and  how  the  human  soul  may 
feed  on  them — the  Word  of  Love — the  Word  of 
Purity — the  Word  of  Service.  While  she  was  still 
speaking,  the  door  opened  and  Rachel  came  in.  It 
had  been  agreed  between  her  and  Janet  that  although 
she  had  no  objection  to  the  prayers,  she  was  not  to 
be  asked  to  take  part  in  them.  So  that  Janet's  pulses 
fluttered  a  little  when  she  appeared.  But  there  was 
no  outward  sign  of  it.  The  speaker  finished  what 
she  had  to  say,  while  the  eyes  of  her  three  headers 
were  sometimes  on  her  face  and  sometimes  on  the 
wide  cornfield  beyond  the  open  window,  where  the 
harvest  moon,  as  yet  only  a  brilliant  sickle,  was  ris- 
ing. The  Earth  Bread  without — the  "  Bread  of 
Life  "  within;  even  in  Jenny's  primitive  mind,  there 
was  a  mingling  of  the  two  ideas,  which  brought  a 
quiet  joy.  She  sat  with  parted  lips,  feeling  that  she 
liked  Miss  LeigHton  very  much,  and  would  try  to 
please  her  with  the  cows. 


HARVEST  47 

Betty,  meanwhile,  beside  her,  passed  into  a  waking 
dream.  She  was  thinking  of  a  soldier  in  the  village : 
the  blacksmith's  son,  a  tall,  handsome  fellow,  who 
had  just  arrived  on  leave  for  ten  days.  She  had 
spent  Sunday  evening  wandering  in  the  lanes  with 
him.  She  felt  passionately  that  she  must  see  him 
again — soon. 

The  little  reading  passed  into  the  Lord's  Prayer. 
Then  it  was  over  and  the  two  girls  disappeared  to 
bed.  Janet  felt  a  little  awkward  when  she  was  left 
alone  with  Rachel,  but  she  went  back  to  her  sewing, 
and  began  to  talk  of  the  day's  news  of  the  war. 
Rachel  answered  at  random,  and  very  soon  said 
good-night. 

But  long  after  everybody  else  in  the  solitary  farm- 
house was  asleep,  Rachel  Henderson  was  sitting  up 
in  bed,  broad  awake,  her  hands  round  her  knees. 
The  window  beside  her  was  open.  She  saw  the 
side  of  the  hill  and  the  bare  down  in  which  it  ended, 
with  the  moonlight  bright  upon  it,  and  the  dark 
woods  crowning  it.  There  were  owls  calling  from 
the  hill,  and  every  now  and  then  a  light  wind  rustled 
through  the  branches  of  an  oak  that  stood  in  the 
farm-yard. 

She  was  thinking  of  what  Janet  had  said  about  the 
"  Words  "  of  Christ— the  Word  of  Purity— and  the 
Word  of  Love.  How  often  she  had  heard  her 


48  HARVEST 

father  read  and  expound  that  chapter!  very  differ- 
ently as  far  as  phraseology — perhaps  even  as  far  as 
meaning — went,  yet  with  all  his  heart,  like  Janet. 
He  was  an  Anglican  clergyman  who  had  done  mis- 
sionary service  in  the  Canadian  West.  He  had  been 
dead  now  three  years,  and  her  mother  five.  She  had 
bitterly  missed  them  both  when  she  was  in  her  worst 
need;  yet  now  she  was  thankful  they  had 
died — before 

What  would  her  father  think  of  her  now  ?  Would 
he  grant  that  she  was  free,  or  would  he  still  hold 
to  those  rigid,  those  cruel  views  of  his?  Oh,  he 
must  grant  it !  She  was  free !  Her  breast  shook 
with  the  fervour  of  her  protest.  She  had  been 
through  passion  and  wrong,  through  things  that 
seared  and  defiled.  She  knew  well  that  she  had  been 
no  mere  innocent  sufferer.  Yet  now  she  had  her 
life  before  her  again;  and  both  heart  and  senses 
were  hungry  for  the  happiness  she  had  so  abomina- 
bly missed.  And  her  starved  conscience — that,  too, 
was  eagerly  awake.  She  had  her  self-respect  to  re- 
cover— the  past  to  forget. 

Work!  that  was  the  receipt — hard  work!  And 
this  dear  woman,  Janet  Leighton,  to  help  her;  Janet, 
with  her  pure,  modest  life  and  her  high  aims.  So, 
at  last,  clinging  to  the  thought  of  her  new  friend 
like  a  wearied  child,  Rachel  Henderson  fell  asleep. 


Ill 


«    A    JOLLY  view!" 

/"%          Janet  assented.     She  was  sitting  behind 

the  pony,  while  Rachel  had  walked  up  the 

hill  beside  the  carriage,  to  the  high  point  where  both 

she  and  the  pony — a  lethargic  specimen  of  the  race 

— had  paused  to  take  breath. 

They  were  on  a  ridge  whence  there  was  a  broad 
bit  of  the  world  to  see.  To  the  north,  a  plain  rich 
in  all  the  diversities  of  English  land — field  and 
wood,  hamlet  and  church,  the  rising  grounds  and 
shallow  depressions,  the  small  enclosures  and  the 
hedgerow  timber,  that  make  all  the  difference  be- 
tween the  English  midlands  and,  say,  the  plain  of 
Champagne,  or  a  Russian  steppe.  Across  the  wide, 
many-coloured  scene,  great  clouds  from  the  west 
were  sweeping,  with  fringes  of  rain  and  sudden 
bursts  of  light  or  shadow,  which  in  their  perpetual 
movement — suggesting  attack  from  the  sky  and  re- 
sponse from  the  earth — gave  drama  and  symbol  to 
the  landscape. 

On  the  south — things  very  different !  First,  an 
interlocked  range  of  hills,  forest-clothed,  stretching 

49 


50  HARVEST 

east  and  west,  and,  at  the  very  feet  of  the  two 
women,  a  forest  valley  offering  much  that  was 
strange  to  English  eyes.  Two  years  before  it  had  . 
been  known  only  to  the  gamekeeper  and  the  shoot- 
ing guests  of  a  neighbouring  landowner.  Now  a 
great  timber  camp  filled  it.  The  gully  ran  far  and 
deep  into  the  heart  of  the  forest  country,  with  a 
light  railway  winding  along  the  bottom,  towards  an 
unseen  road.  The  steep  sides  of  the  valley — Rachel 
and  Janet  stood  on  the  edge  of  one  of  them — were 
covered  with  felled  trees,  cut  the  preceding  winter, 
and  left  as  they  fell.  The  dead  branch  and  leaf 
of  the  trees  had  turned  to  a  rich  purple,  and  dyed 
all  the  inside  of  the  long  deep  cup.  But  along  its 
edges  stretched  the  forest,  still  untouched,  and  every- 
where, in  the  bare  spaces  left  here  and  there  by  the 
felling  among  the  "  rubble  and  woody  wreck,"  green 
and  gold  mosses  and  delicate  grasses  had  sprung  up, 
a  brilliant  enamel,  inlaid  with  a  multitude  of  wild 
flowers. 

"Look!"  cried  Rachel. 

For  suddenly,  down  below  them,  a  huge  trunk 
began  to  move  as  though  of  its  own  accord.  Hissing 
and  crashing  like  some  gray  serpent,  it  glided  down 
the  hill-side,  till  it  approached  a  group  of  figures 
and  horses  congregated  at  the  head  of  the  valley, 
near  an  engine  puffing  smoke.  Then  something  in- 


HARVEST  51 

visible  happened,  and  presently  a  trolley  piled  high 
with  logs  detached  itself  from  the  group,  and  set 
out  on  a  solitary  journey  down  the  railway,  watched 
here  and  there  by  men  in  queer  uniforms  with 
patches  on  their  backs. 

"  German  prisoners  I  "  said  Janet,  and  strained 
her  eyes  to  see,  thinking  all  the  time  of  a  letter  she 
had  received  that  morning  from  her  soldier  brother 
fighting  with  the  English  troops  to  the  west  of 
Rheims : — 

'  The  beggars  are  on  the  run !  Foch  has  got 
them  this  time.  But,  oh,  Lord,  the  sight  they've 
made  of  all  this  beautiful  country!  Trampled,  and 
ruined,  and  smashed !  all  of  it.  Deliberate  loot  and 
malice  everywhere,  and  tales  of  things  done  in  the 
villages  that  make  one  see  red.  We  captured  a 
letter  to  his  wife  on  a  dead  German  this  morning: 
*  Well,  the  offensive  is  a  failure,  but  we've  done  one 
thing — we've  smashed  up  another  bit  of  France ! ' 
How  are  we  ever  going  to  live  with  this  people  in 
the  same  world  after  the  war?  " 

And  there  below,  in  the  heart  of  this  remote 
English  woodland,  now  being  sacrificed  to  the  war, 
moved  the  sons  of  this  very  people,  cast  up  here  by 
the  tide  of  battle.  Janet  had  heard  that  nobody 
spoke  to  them  during  the  work,  except  to  give  direc- 
tions; after  work  they  had  their  own  wired  camp, 


52  HARVEST 

and  all  intercourse  between  them  and  the  Canadian 
woodmen,  or  the  English  timber  girls,  was  for- 
bidden. But  what  were  they  saying  among  them- 
selves— what  were  they  thinking — these  peasants, 
some  perhaps  from  the  Rhineland,  or  the  beautiful 
Bavarian  country,  or  the  Prussian  plains?  Janet 
had  travelled  a  good  deal  in  Germany  before  the 
war,  using  her  holidays  as  a  mistress  in  a  secondary 
school,  and  her  small,  savings,  in  a  kind  of  wander- 
ing which  had  been  a  passion  with  her.  She  had 
known  Bavarians  and  Prussians  at  home.  But  here, 
in  this  corner  of  rural  England,  with  this  veil  of 
silence  drawn  between  them  and  the  nation  which 
at  last,  in  this  summer  of  1918,  was  grimly  certain, 
after  four  years  of  vengeance  and  victory,  what 
ferments  were,  perhaps,  working  in  the  German 
mind? 

Yes,  there  was  the  German  camp,  and  beyond  it 
under  the  hill  the  Canadian  forestry  camp;  whilst 
just  beneath  them  could  be  seen  the  roof  of  the  large 
women's  hostel. 

Another  exclamation  from  Rachel,  as,  on  their 
left,  another  great  tree  started  for  the  bottom  of  the 
hollow. 

"But  haven't  you  seen  all  this  before?"  asked 
Janet. 

"  No,  I  never  saw  anything  of  lumbering." 


HARVEST  53 

The  tone  showed  the  sudden  cooling  and  reserve 
that  were  always  apparent  in  Rachel's  manner  when 
any  subject  connected  with  Canada  came  into  con- 
versation. Yet  Janet  had  noticed  with  surprise  that 
it  was  Rachel  herself  who,  when  the  harvest  was 
nearly  over,  had  revived  the  subject  of  the  camp, 
and  planned  the  drive  for  this  Saturday  afternoon. 
It  had  seemed  to  Janet  once  or  twice  that  she  was 
forcing  herself  to  do  it,  as  though  braving  some 
nervousness  of  which  she  was  ashamed. 

The  rough  road  on  which  they  were  driving 
wound  gradually  downward  through  the  felled 
timber.  Soon  they  could  hear  the  clatter  of  the  en- 
gine, and  the  hissing  of  the  saws  which  seized  the 
trees  on  their  landing,  and  cut  and  stripped  them 
in  a  trice,  ready  for  loading.  Round  the  engine  and 
at  the  starting-place  of  the  trolleys  was  a  busy 
crowd:  lean  and  bronzed  Canadians;  women  in 
leather  breeches  and  coats,  busily  measuring  and 
marking;  a  team  of  horses  showing  silvery  white 
against  the  purple  of  the  hill;  and  everywhere  the 
German  prisoner  lads,  mostly  quite  young  and  of 
short  stature.  The  pony  carriage  passed  a  group 
of  them,  and  they  stared  with  cheerful,  furtive  looks 
at  the  two  women. 

Then  the  group  of  timber  girls  below  perceived 
the  approaching  visitors,  and  a  figure,  detaching 


54  HARVEST 

itself  from  the  rest,  came  to  meet  the  carriage.  A 
stately  woman,  black-haired,  in  coat  and  breeches 
like  the  rest,  with  a  felt  hat,  and  a  badge  of  author- 
ity, touches  of  green  besides  on  the  khaki  uniform. 
Janet  recognized  her  at  once  as  Mrs.  Fergusson, 
their  comrade  for  a  time  at  college,  and  much  liked 
both  by  her  and  Rachel. 

She  came  laughing,  with  hands  outstretched. 

"  Well,  here  we  meet  again !  Jolly  to  see  you ! 
A  new  scene,  isn't  it?  Life  doesn't  stand  still  nowa- 
days! One  of  my  girls  will  take  the  carriage  for 
you." 

A  stalwart  maiden  unharnessed  the  pony  and  let 
him  graze. 

Mrs.  Fergusson  took  possession  of  her  visitors, 
and  walked  on  beside  them,  describing  the  dif- 
ferent stages  of  the  work,  and  sections  of  the 
workers. 

'You  see  those  tall  fellows  farthest  off?  Those 
work  the  saws  and  cut  up  the  trees  as  they  come 
down.  Then  the  horses  bring  them  to  the  rollers, 
and  the  Canadians  guide  them  with  those  hooks  till 
the  crane  seizes  hold  of  them  and  lifts  them  on  to 
the  trolley.  But  before  the  hooks  get  them — you 
see  the  girls  there? — they  do  all  the  measuring;  they 
note  everything  in  their  books  and  they  mark  every 
log.  All  the  payments  of  the  camp,  the  wages  paid, 


HARVEST  55 

the  sums  earned  by  the  trolley  contractor  who  takes 
them  to  the  station,  the  whole  finance  in  fact,  de- 
pends on  the  women.  I've  trained  scores  besides 
and  sent  them  out  to  other  camps !  But  now  come, 
I  must  introduce  you  to  the  commandant  of  the 
camp." 

"  A  Canadian?  "  asked  Janet. 

"  No,  an  American !  He  comes  from  Maine,  but 
he  had  been  lumbering  in  Canada,  with  several  mills 
and  camps  under  him.  So  he  volunteered  a  year 
ago  to  bring  over  a  large  Forestry  battalion — mostly 
the  men  he  had  been  working  with  in  Quebec. 
Splendid  fellows!  But  he's  the  king!  " 

Then  she  raised  her  voice, — 

"  Captain  Ellesborough !  " 

A  young  man  in  uniform,  with  a  slouch  hat,  came 
forward,  leaping  over  the  logs  in  his  path.  He  gave 
a  military  salute  to  the  two  visitors,  and  a  swift 
scrutinizing  look  to  each  of  them.  Rachel  was  aware 
of  a  thin,  handsome  face  bronzed  by  exposure,  a 
pair  of  blue  eyes,  rather  pale  in  colour,  to  which  the 
sunburn  of  brow  and  cheek  gave  a  singular  brilliance, 
and  a  well-cut,  determined  mouth.  The  shoulders 
were  those  of  an  athlete,  but  on  the  whole  the  figure 
was  lightly  and  slenderly  built,  making  an  impres- 
sion rather  of  grace  and  elasticity  than  of  excep- 
tional strength. 


56  HARVEST 

'  You  would  like  to  see  the  camp  ?  "  he  said,  look- 
ing at  Rachel. 

"  Aren't  you  too  busy  to  show  it?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  not  wanted  just  now.  Let  me 
help  you  over  those  logs."  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  I  don't  want  any  help,"  said 
Rachel  a  little  scornfully.  He  smiled  in  approving 
silence,  and  she  followed  his  lead,  leaping  and 
scrambling  over  the  piles  of  wood,  with  a  deer's 
sureness  of  foot,  till  he  invited  her  to  stop  and  watch 
the  timber  girls  at  their  measuring.  As  the  two  vis- 
itors approached,  land-women  and  forest-women 
eyed  each  other  with  friendly  looks,  but  without 
speech.  For  talk,  indeed,  the  business  in  hand  was 
far  too  strenuous.  The  logs  were  coming  in  fast; 
there  must  be  no  slip  in  measurement  or  note.  The 
work  was  hard,  and  the  women  doing  it  had  been 
at  it  all  day.  But  on  the  whole,  what  a  comely  and 
energetic  group,  with  the  bright  eyes,  the  clear  skins, 
the  animation  born  of  open  air  and  exercise. 

"They  can't  talk  to  you  now!  "  said  Mrs.  Fer- 
gusson  in  Janet's  ear,  amid  the  din  of  the  engines, 
"  but  they'll  talk  at  tea.  And  there's  a  dance  to- 
night." 

Janet  looked  round  the  wild  glen  in  wonder. 

"Who  come?" 

"  Oh,  there's  an  (Air  Force  camp  half  a  mile  away 


HARVEST  57 

— an  Army  Service  camp  on  the  other  side.  The 
officers  come — some  of  them — every  Saturday.  We 
take  down  the  partitions  in  our  huts.  You  can't 
think  what  pretty  frocks  the  girls  put  on !  And  we 
dance  till  midnight." 

"  And  you've  no  difficulty  with  the  men  working 
in  the  camp  ?  " 

"You  mean — how  do  they  treat  the  girls?" 
laughed  Mrs.  Fergusson.  "  They're  charming  to 
the  girls !  Chivalrous,  kind,  everything  they  should 
be.  But  then,"  she  added  proudly,  "  my  girls  are 
the  pick — educated  women  all  of  them.  I  could 
trust  them  anywhere.  And  Captain  Ellesborough — 
you  won't  get  any  mischief  going  on  where  he  is." 

Meanwhile  the  captain,  well  out  of  earshot  of 
Mrs.  Fergusson's  praise,  was  explaining  the  organi- 
zation of  the  camp  to  Rachel  as  they  slowly  climbed 
the  hill,  on  the  opposite  side  from  that  by  which  she 
and  Janet  had  descended. 

"Which  works  hardest,  I  wonder?"  she  said  at 
last,  as  they  paused  to  look  down  on  the  scene  be- 
low. '  We  on  our  farm,  or  you  here?  I've  never 
had  more  than  five  hours'  sleep  through  the  harvest! 
But  now  things  are  slacker." 

He  threw  his  head  back  with  a  laugh. 

"  Why,  this  seems  to  me  like  playing  at  lumber- 
ing! It's  all  so  tiny — so  babyish.  Oh,  yes,  there's 


58  HARVEST 

plenty  of  work — for  the  moment.  But  it'll  be  all 
done,  in  one  more  season;  not  a  stick  left.  England 
can't  grow  a  real  forest." 

"  Compared  to  America?  " 

;<  Well,  I  was  thinking  of  Canada.  Do  you  know 
Canada?" 

"A  little."  Then  she  added  hastily:  "But  I 
never  saw  any  lumbering." 

!<  What  a  pity!  It's  a  gorgeous  life.  Oh,  not  for 
women.  These  women  here — awfully  nice  girls,  and 
awfully  clever  too — couldn't  make  anything  of  it  in 
Canada.  I  had  a  couple  of  square  miles  of  forest  to 
look  after — magnificent  stuff ! — Douglas  fir  most  of 
it — and  two  pulping  mills,  and  about  two  hundred 
men — a  rough  lot." 

"  But  you're  not  Canadian?" 

"  Oh,  Lord,  no !  My  people  live  in  Maine.  I 
was  at  Yale.  I  got  trained  at  the  forest  school  there, 
and  after  a  bit  went  over  the  Canadian  frontier  with 
my  brother  to  work  a  big  concession  in  Quebec.  We 
did  very  well — made  a  lot  of  money.  Then  came 
the  war.  My  brother  joined  up  with  the  Canadian 
army.  I  stayed  behind  to  try  and  settle  up  the  busi- 
ness, till  the  States  went  in,  too.  Then  they  set  me 
and  some  other  fellows  to  rajse  a  Forestry  battalion 
— picked  men.  We  went  to  France  first,  and  last 
winter  I  was  sent  here — to  boss  this  little  show! 


HARVEST  59 

But  I  shan't  stay  here  long!  It  isn't  good  enough. 
Besides,  I  want  to  fight!  They've  promised  me  a 
commission  in  our  own  army." 

He  looked  at  her  with  sparkling  eyes,  and  her 
face  involuntarily  answered  the  challenge  of  his; 
so  much  so  that  his  look  prolonged  itself.  She  was 
wonderfully  pleasant  to  look  upon,  this  friend  of 
Mrs.  Fergusson's.  And  she  was  farming  on  her 
own  ?  A  jolly  plucky  thing  to  do  !  He  decided  that 
he  liked  her;  and  his  talk  flowed  on.  He  was  frank 
about  himself,  and  full  of  self-confidence;  but  there 
was  a  winning  human  note  in  it,  and  Rachel  listened 
eagerly,  talking  readily,  too,  whenever  there  was  art 
opening.  They  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  hill  where 
they  stood  on  the  northern  edge  of  the  forest,  look- 
ing across  the  basin  and  the  busy  throng  below.  He 
pointed  out  to  her  a  timber-slide  to  their  right,  and 
they  watched  the  trees  rushing  down  it,  dragged,  as 
she  now  saw  plainly,  by  the  wire  cable  which  was 
worked  by  the  engine  in  the  hollow.  A  group  of 
German  prisoners,  half-way  down,  were  on  the  edge 
of  the  slide,  guiding  the  logs. 

"  We  don't  have  any  trouble  with  them,"  said 
the  captain  carelessly.  '  They're  only  too  thankful 
to  be  here.  They've  two  corporals  of  their  own  who- 
keep  order.  Oh,  of  course  we  have  our  eyes  open. 
There  are  some  sly  beggars  among  them.  Our  men 


60  HARVEST 

have  no  truck  with  them.  I  shouldn't  advise  you 
to  employ  them.  It  wouldn't  do  for  women 
alone." 

His  smile  was  friendly,  and  Rachel  found  it  pleas- 
ant to  be  advised  by  him.  As  to  employing  pris- 
oners, she  said,  even  were  it  allowed,  nothing  would 
induce  her  to  risk  it.  There  were  a  good  many  on 
Colonel  Shepherd's  estate,  and  she  sometimes  met 
them,  bicycling  to  and  from  their  billets  in  the  vil- 
lage, in  the  evening  after  work.  "  Once  or  twice 
they've  jeered  at  me,"  she  said,  flushing. 

"  Jeered  at  you !  "  he  repeated  in  surprise. 

"  At  my  dress,  I  mean.    It  seems  to  amuse  them." 

"  I  see.  You  wear  the  land  army  dress  like  these 
girls?" 

"  When  I'm  at  work." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  you  don't  wear  it  always,"  he 
said  candidly.  '  These  girls  here  look  awfully  nice 
of  an  evening.  They  always  change." 

He  glanced  at  her  curiously.  Her  dress  of  dark 
blue  linen,  her  pretty  hat  to  match,  with  its  bunch  of 
flowers,  not  to  speak  of  the  slender  ankles  and  feet 
In  their  blue  stockings  and  khaki  shoes,  seemed  to 
him  extraordinarily  becoming.  But  she  puzzled 
him.  There  was  something  about  her  quite  different 
from  the  girls  of  the  hostel.  She  appeared  to  be 
older  and  riper  than  they;  yet  he  did  not  believe 


HARVEST  6 1 

she  was  a  day  more  than  five-and-twenty,  and  some 
of  them  were  older  than  that.  Unmarried,  he  sup- 
posed. "  Miss  Henderson?  "  Yes,  he  was  sure  that 
was  the  name  Mrs.  Fergusson  had  mentioned.  His 
eyes  travelled  discreetly  to  her  bare,  left  hand.  That 
settled  it. 

"  Well,  if  I  came  across  these  fellows  jeering  at 
an  Englishwoman,  I'd  know  the  reason  why !  "  he 
resumed  hotly.  "  You  should  have  complained." 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling.  "  One  doesn't  want 
to  be  a  nuisance  in  war  time.  One  can  always  pro- 
tect oneself." 

He  smiled. 

"  That's  what  women  always  say,  and — excuse  me 
— they  can't!  " 

She  laughed. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  can — the  modern  woman." 

"  I  don't  see  much  difference  between  the  modern 
woman  and  the  old-fashioned  woman,"  he  said  ob- 
stinately. "  It  isn't  dress  or  working  at  munitions 
that  makes  the  difference." 

"  No,  but — what  they  signify." 

"  What? — a  freer  life,  getting  your  own  way,  sec- 
ing  more  of  the  world?"  The  tone  was  a  trifle 
antagonistic. 

"Knowing  more  of  the  world,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"  We're  not  the  ignorant  babes  our  grandmothers 


62  HARVEST 

were  at  our  age.  That's  why  we  can  protect  our- 
selves." 

And  again  he  was  aware  of  something  sharp  or 
bitter  in  her — some  note  of  disillusionment — that 
jarred  with  the  soft,  rather  broad  face  and  dreamy 
eyes.  It  stirred  him,  and  they  presently  found  them- 
selves plunged  in  a  free  and  exciting  discussion  of 
the  new  place  and  opportunities  of  women  in  the 
world,  the  man  from  the  more  conservative,  the 
women  from  the  more  revolutionary  point  of  view. 
Secretly,  he  was  a  good  deal  repelled  by  some  of  his 
companion's  opinions,  and  her  expression  of  them. 
She  quoted  Wells  and  Shaw,  and  he  hated  both.  He 
was  an  idealist  and  a  romantic,  with  a  volume  of 
poems  in  his  pocket.  She,  it  seemed,  was  still  on  a 
rising  wave  of  rebellion,  moral  and  social,  like  so 
many  women;  while  his  wave  had  passed,  and  he 
was  drifting  in  the  trough  of  it.  He  supposed  she 
had  dropped  religion,  like  everything  else.  Well, 
the  type  didn't  attract  him.  He  believed  the  world 
was  coming  back  to  the  old  things.  The  war  had 
done  it — made  people  think.  No  doubt  this  girl  had 
rushed  through  a  lot  of  things  already,  and  thought 
she  knew  everything.  But  she  didn't. 

Then,  as  their  talk  went  on,  this  first  opinion 
dropped  in  confusion.  For  instead  of  presenting 
him  with  a  consistent  revolutionist,  his  companion 


HARVEST  63 

was,  it  appeared,  full  of  the  most  unexpected  veins 
and  pockets  of  something  much  softer  and  more  ap- 
pealing. She  had  astonishing  returns  upon  herself; 
and  after  some  sentiment  that  had  seemed  to  him 
silly  or  even  outrageous,  a  hurried  "  Oh,  I  dare  say 
that's  all  nonsense !  "  would  suddenly  bewilder  or 
appease  a  marked  trenchancy  of  judgment  in  himself 
which  was  not  accustomed  to  he  so  tripped  up. 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  both  Rachel  and  her 
new  acquaintance  enjoyed  an  agreeable,  an  adven- 
turous half  hour.  They  got  rapidly  beyond  conven- 
tionalities. One  moment  she  thought  him  rude,  the 
next  delightful;  just  as  she  alternately  appeared  to 
him  feminist  and  feminine.  Above  them  the  doomed 
beech  trees,  still  green  in  the  late  August  afternoon, 
spread  their  canopy  of  leaf,  and  through  their  close 
stems  ran  dark  aisles  of  shadow.  Below  them  was 
the  tree-strewn  hill-side.  In  the  hollow  Rachel  could 
see  Janet  Leighton  and  Mrs.  Fergusson  among  the 
measuring  girls;  the  horses  moving  to  and  fro;  the 
Canadian  lumber-men  catching  at  and  guiding  the 
logs;  the  trolleys  descending  the  valley;  while  just 
opposite  to  them  trunk  after  trunk  was  crashing 
down  the  hill,  the  line  of  the  steel  cable  gleaming 
now  and  then  in  a  fitful  sunshine  which  had  begun 
to  slip  out  below  a  roof  of  purple  cloud.  Only  one 
prisoner  was  left  to  look  after  the  slide.  The  others 


64  HARVEST 

had  just  gone  down  the  hill,  at  a  summons  from 
below.  Suddenly  Ellesborough  sprang  to  his 
feet.1 

"  Good  Heavens!  what's  that?  "  For  a  loud  cry 
had  rung  out,  accompanied  by  what  sounded  like  a 
report.  The  man  who  had  been  standing  among  the 
dead  brushwood  on  the  other  side  of  the  descending 
timber,  about  a  hundred  yards  away,  had  disap- 
peared; and  the  huge  beech  just  launched  from  above 
had  ceased  to  move. 

iAnother  cry  for  help. 

u  The  cable's  broken !  "  said  Ellesborough,  start- 
ing at  full  speed  for  the  slide.  Rachel  rushed  after 
him,  and  presently  caught  him  up  where  he  knelt  be- 
side a  man  lying  on  the  ground,  and  writhing  in 
great  pain.  The  prisoner's  cap  had  fallen  off,  and 
revealed  a  young  German  lad  of  nineteen  or  twenty, 
hardly  conscious,  and  groaning  pitifully  at  intervals. 
As  he  lay  crouched  on  his  face,  the  red  patches  on 
his  back,  intended  to  guide  the  aim  of  an  armed 
guard  in  case  of  any  attempt  to  escape,  showed  with 
a  sinister  plainness. 

'  The  cable  snapped,  and  has  caught  him  round 
the  body,"  Ellesborough  explained.  "  Give  him  this 
brandy,  please,  while  I  try  and  make  out " 

With  skilled  and  gentle  fingers  he  began  to  ex- 
plore the  injury. 


HARVEST  65 

41 A  rib  broken,  I  think."  He  looked  with  anxiety 
at  some  blood  that  had  begun  to  appear  on  the  lips. 
"  I  must  go  down  and  get  some  men  and  a  stretcher. 
They  won't  know  what  to  do  without  me.  My  sec- 
ond in  command  is  off  duty  for  the  day.  Can  you 
look  after  him  while  I  go?  Awfully  sorry  to — = — •" 

He  gave  her  a  swift,  investigating  glance. 

She  interrupted  him. 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do,  and  I'll  do  it." 

He  loosened  the  boy's  collar  and  very  gently  tried 
to  ease  his  position. 

"  Mamma !  "  murmured  the  boy,  with  the  accent 
of  a  miserable  child  in  a  bad  dream.  Ellesborough's 
face  softened.  He  bent  over  him  and  said  something 
in  German.  Rachel  did  not  understand  it — only  the 
compassionate  look  in  the  man's  blue  eyes. 

"  Give  him  more  brandy  if  you  can,  and  try  and 
keep  him  still,"  said  Ellesborough  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet.  "  I  shall  be  back  directly." 

Her  glance  answered.  By  this  time  there  was 
commotion  below,  the  engine  had  stopped  working 
and  men  were  running  up  the  hill.  Ellesborough 
went  bounding  down  the  steep  slope  to  meet  them. 
They  turned  back  with  him,  and  Rachel  supposed 
they  had  gone  to  fetch  a  stretcher,  and  if  possible  a 
doctor,  from  the  small  camp  hospital  which  Mrs. 
Fergusson  had  pointed  out  to  her  near  the  gate. 


66  HARVEST 

Meanwhile,  for  a  few  minutes,  she  was  alone  with 
this  suffering  lad.  Was  he  fatally  hurt — dying?  She 
managed  to  get  some  brandy  down,  and  then  he  lay 
groaning  and  unconscious,  murmuring  incoherent 
words.  She  caught  "  Mamma  "  again,  then  "  Lisa," 
"  Hans,"  and  broken  phrases  that  meant  nothing  to 
her.  Was  his  mind  back  in  some  German  home, 
which,  perhaps,  he  would  never  see  again? 

All  sorts  of  thoughts  passed  through  her:  vague 
memories  gathered  from  the  newspapers,  of  what 
the  Germans  had  done  in  Belgium  and  France — hor- 
rible, indescribable  things !  Oh,  not  this  boy,  surely ! 
He  could  not  be  more  than  nineteen.  He  must  have 
been  captured  in  the  fighting  of  July,  perhaps  in  his 
first  action.  Captain  Ellesborough  had  said  to  her 
that  there  was  no  fighting  spirit  among  any  of  the 
prisoners.  They  were  thankful  to  find  themselves 
out  of  it,  "  safely  captured,"  as  one  of  them  had  had 
the  bravado  to  say,  and  with  enough  to  eat.  No 
doubt  this  boy  had  dreamt  day  and  night  of  peace, 
and  getting  back  to  Germany,  to  "  Mamma  "  and 
"  Lisa  "  and  "  Hans."  To  die,  if  he  was  to  die, 
by  this  clumsy  accident,  in  an  enemy  country,  was 
hard! 

Pity,  passionate  pity  sprang  up  in  her,  and  it 
warmed  her  heart  to  remember  the  pity  in  the  face 
of  Captain  Ellesborough.  She  would  have  hated 


HARVEST  67 

him  if  he  had  shown  any  touch  of  a  callous  or  cruel 
spirit  towards  this  helpless  creature.  But  there  had 
been  none. 

In  a  few  more  minutes  she  was  aware  of  Mrs. 
Fergusson  and  Janet  climbing  rapidly  towards  her. 
And  behind  them  came  stretcher-bearers,  the  cap- 
tain, and  possibly  a  doctor. 

The  accident  broke  up  the  working  afternoon. 
The  injured  lad  was  carried  to  hospital,  where  the 
surgeon  shook  his  head,  and  refused  to  prophesy  till 
twenty-four  hours  were  over. 

Captain  Ellesborough  disappeared,  while  Rachel 
and  Janet  were  given  tea  at  the  woman's  hostel  and 
shown  the  camp.  Rachel  took  an  absorbed  interest 
in  it  all.  This  world  of  the  new  woman,  with  its 
widening  horizons,  its  atmosphere  of  change  and 
discovery,  its  independence  of  men,  soothed  some 
deep  smart  in  her  that  Janet  was  only  now  beginning 
to  realize.  And  yet,  Janet  remembered  the  vicar, 
and  had  watched  the  talk  with  Ellesborough.  Clearly 
to  be  the  professed  enemy  of  man  did  not  altogether 
disincline  you  for  his  company! 

At  any  rate  it  seemed  quite  natural  to  Janet  Leigh- 
ton  that,  when  it  was  time  to  go,  and  a  charming 
girl  in  khaki  with  green  facings  caught  the  pony,  and 
harnessed  it  for  Mrs.  Fergusson's  parting  guests, 


68  HARVEST 

Ellesborough  should  turn  up,  as  soon  as  the  fare- 
wells were  over;  and  that  she  should  find  herself 
driving  the  pony-carriage  up  the  hill,  while  Elles- 
borough and  Rachel  walked  behind,  and  at  a  length- 
ening distance.  Once  or  twice  she  looked  back,  and 
saw  that  the  captain  was  gathering  some  of  the 
abounding  wild  flowers  which  had  sprung  up  on  the 
heels  of  the  retreating  forest,  and  that  Rachel  had 
fastened  a  bunch  of  them  into  her  hat.  She  smiled 
to  herself,  and  drove  steadily  on.  Rachel  was  young 
and  pretty.  Marriage  with  some  man — some  day — 
was  certainly  her  fate.  The  kind,  unselfish  Janet 
intended  to  "  play  up." 

Then,  with  a  jerk,  she  remembered  there  was  a 
story.  Nonsense !  An  unhappy  love  affair,  no  doubt, 
which  had  happened  in  her  first  youth,  and  in  Can- 
ada. Well,  such  things,  in  the  case  of  a  girl  with 
the  temperament  of  Rachel,  are  only  meant  to  be  ab- 
sorbed in  another  love  affair.  They  are  the  leaf 
mould  that  feeds  the  final  growth.  Janet  cheerfully 
said  to  herself  that,  probably,  her  partnership  with 
Rachel  would  only  be  a  short  one. 

The  pair  behind  were,  indeed,  much  occupied  with 
each  other.  The  tragic  incident  of  the  afternoon 
seemed  to  have  carried  them  rapidly  through  the 
preliminary  stages  of  acquaintance.  At  least,  it  led 
naturally  to  talk  about  things  and  feelings  more  real 


HARVEST  69 

and  intimate  than  generally  haunt  the  first  steps. 
And  in  this  talk  each  found  the  other  more  and  more 
congenial.  Ellesborough  was  now  half  amused,  half 
touched,  by  the  mixture  of  childishness  and  maturity 
in  Rachel.  One  moment  her  ignorance  surprised 
him,  and  the  next,  some  shrewd  or  cynical  note  in 
what  she  was  saying  scattered  the  ingenue  impres- 
sion, and  piqued  his  curiosity  afresh.  She  was  in- 
deed crassly  ignorant  about  many  current  affairs  in 
which  he  himself  was  keenly  interested,  and  of  which 
he  supposed  all  educated  women  must  by  now  have 
learnt  the  ABC.  She  could  not  have  given  him 
the  simplest  historical  outline  of  the  great  war;  he 
saw  that  she  was  quite  uncertain  whether  Lloyd 
George  or  Asquith  were  Prime  Minister;  and  as  to 
politics  and  public  persons  in  Canada,  where  she  had 
clearly  lived  some  time,  her  mind  seemed  to  be  a 
complete  blank.  None  the  less  she  had  read  a  good 
deal — novels  and  poetry  at  least — and  she  took  a 
queerly  pessimistic  view  of  life.  She  liked  her  farm 
work;  she  said  so  frankly.  But  on  a  sympathetic 
reply  from  him  to  the  effect  that  he  knew  several 
other  women  who  had  taken  to  it,  and  they  all 
seemed  to  be  "  happy  "  in  it,  she  made  a  scornful 
mouth. 

"  Oh,  well — '  happy  '  ? — that's  a  different  thing. 
But  it  does  as  well  as  anything  else." 


70  HARVEST 

The  last  thing  she  wanted,  apparently,  was  to  talk 
about  Canada.  He,  himself,  as  a  temporary  settler 
in  the  Great  Dominion,  cherished  an  enthusiasm  for 
Canada  and  a  belief  in  the  Canadian  future,  not, 
perhaps,  very  general  among  Americans;  but  al- 
though her  knowledge  of  the  country  gave  them  in- 
evitably some  common  ground,  she  continually  held 
back  from  it,  she  entered  on  it  as  little  as  she  could. 
She  had  been  in  the  Dominion,  he  presently  calcu- 
lated, about  seven  or  eight  years;  but  she  avoided 
names  and  dates,  how  adroitly,  he  did  not  perceive 
till  they  had  parted,  and  he  was  thinking  over  their 
walk.  She  must  have  gone  out  to  Canada  imme- 
diately after  leaving  school.  He  gathered  that  her 
father  had  been  a  clergyman,  and  was  dead;  that 
she  knew  the  prairie  life,  but  had  never  been  in  Brit- 
ish Columbia,  and  only  a  few  days  in  Montreal  and 
Toronto.  That  was  all  that,  at  the  end  of  their 
walk,  he  knew;  and  all  apparently  she  meant  him 
to  know.  Whereas  she  on  her  side  showed  a  be- 
guiling power  of  listening  to  all  he  had  to  say  about 
the  mysterious  infinity  of  the  Canadian  forest-lands 
and  the  wild  life  that,  winter  or  spring,  a  man  may 
live  among  them,  which  flattered  the  very  human 
conceit  of  a  strong  and  sensitive  nature. 

But  at  last  they  had  climbed  the  tree-strewn  slope, 
and  were  on  the  open  ridge  with  the  northern  plain 


HARVEST  71 

in  view.  The  sun  was  now  triumphantly  out,  just 
before  his  setting;  the  clouds  had  been  flung  aside, 
and  he  shone  full  upon  the  harvest  world — such  a 
harvest  world  as  England  had  not  seen  for  a  century. 
There  they  lay,  the  new  and  golden  fields,  where,  to 
north  and  south,  to  east  and  west,  the  soil  of  Eng- 
land, so  long  unturned,  had  joyously  answered  once 
more  to  its  old  comrade  the  plough. 

"  'An  enemy  hath  done  this,'  "  quoted  Ellesbor- 
ough,  with  an  approving  smile,  as  he  pointed  towards 
the  plain.  "  But  there  was  a  God  behind  him !  " 

Rachel  laughed.  "  Well,  I've  got  three  fields  still 
to  get  in,"  she  said.  "  And  they're  the  best.  Good- 
night." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  standing  transfigured  in 
the  light,  the  wind  blowing  her  beautiful  hair  about 
her. 

"  May  I  come  and  see  you?"  he  asked,  rather 
formally. 

She  smiled  assent. 

"  Next  week  everything  will  be  in,  and  some  of 
it  threshed.  I  shall  be  freer  then.  You'll  like  our 
place." 

He  pressed  her  hand,  and  she  was  off,  running 
like  a  fawn  after  the  retreating  pony  carriage. 

He  turned  away,  a  little  dazzled  and  shaken. 
The  image  of  her  on  the  ridge  remained;  but  what 


72  HARVEST 

. 
perhaps  had  struck  deepest  had  been  the  sweetness 

of  her  as  she  hung  above  the  injured  boy.  He  went 
slowly  towards  the  camp,  conscious  that  the  day 
now  departing  had  opened  a  new  door  in  the  House 
of  Life. 


IV 


ELLESBOROUGH  allowed  a  week  to  pass  be- 
fore making  the  call  at  Great  End  he  had 
arranged  with  Rachel.    But  at  last,  when  he 
thought  that  her  harvesting  would  be  really  over, 
he  set  out  on  his  motor  bicycle,  one  fine  evening,  as 
soon  as  work  at  the  camp  was  over.     According  to 
summer  time  it  was  about  seven  o'clock,  and  the 
sun  was  still  sailing  clear  above  the  western  woods. 

Part  of  his  way  lay  over  a  broad  common 
chequered  with  fine  trees  and  groups  of  trees,  some 
of  them  of  great  age ;  for  the  rest  he  ran  through  a 
world  where  harvest  in  its  latest  stages  was  still 
the  governing  fact.  In  some  fields  the  corn  was  being 
threshed  on  the  spot,  without  waiting  for  the  stacks ; 
in  others,  the  last  loads  were  being  led;  and  every- 
where in  the  cleared  fields  there  were  scattered  fig- 
ures of  gleaners,  casting  long  shadows  on  the  gold 
and  purple  carpet  of  the  stubble.  For  Ellesborough 
the  novelty  of  this  garden  England,  so  elaborately 
combed  and  finished  in  comparison  with  his  own 
country,  was  by  no  means  exhausted.  There  were 
times  when  the  cottage  gardens,  the  endless  hedge- 
rows, and  miniature  plantations  pleased  him  like  the 

73 


74  HARVEST 

detail  in  those  early  Florentine  pictures  in  the  Metro- 
politan Museum,  for  which,  business  man  as  he  was, 
and  accustomed  to  the  wilds,  he  had  once  or  twice, 
on  visits  to  New  York,  discovered  in  himself  a  con- 
siderable taste.  He  was  a  man,  indeed,  of  many 
aptitudes,  and  of  a  loyal  and  affectionate  temper. 
His  father,  a  country  doctor,  now  growing  old,  his 
mother,  still  pretty  at  sixty,  and  his  two  unmarried 
sisters  were  all  very  dear  to  him.  He  wrote  to 
them  constantly,  and  received  many  letters  from 
them.  They  belonged  to  one  of  the  old  Unitarian 
stocks  still  common  in  New  England ;  and  such  stocks 
are  generally  conspicuous  for  high  standards  and 
clean  living.  "  Discipline  "  was  among  the  chief 
marks  of  the  older  generation.  A  father  or  mother 
dreaded  an  "  undisciplined  "  child,  and  the  word  was 
often  on  their  lips,  though  in  no  Pharisaical  way; 
while  the  fact  was  evident  in  their  lives,  and  in  those 
private  diaries  which  they  were  apt  to  keep,  wherein, 
up  to  old  age,  they  jealously  watched  their  own  daily 
thoughts  and  actions  from  the  same  point  of  view. 

And  though  the  younger  generation,  like  the 
younger  generation  of  Quakers,  shows  change  and 
some  disintegration,  the  old  Puritan  traditions  and 
standards  are  still,  as  we  all  know,  of  great  effect 
among  them.  Especially  with  regard  to  women,  and 
all  that  concerns  them.  Among  the  Ellesborough 


HARVEST  75 

clan,  which  was  a  large  one,  there  prevailed,  along 
with  the  traditional  American  consideration  for 
women,  and  especially  among  the  women  of  the  fam- 
ily themselves — a  strict  and  even  severe  standard  of 
sexual  morals.  There  was  no  hypocrisy  in  it;  they 
talked  of  it  but  little,  but  they  lived  by  it;  and  their 
men  were  brought  up  in  the  atmosphere  created  by 
it.  And  as  affection  and  tenderness  and  self-sacri- 
fice were  freely  mixed  with  the  asceticism,  there  was 
no  rebellion — at  any  rate  no  open  rebellion — among 
their  men  folk.  The  atmosphere  created  led,  no 
doubt,  to  certain  evasions  of  the  hard  problems  of 
life;  and  to  some  quiet  revaluations  of  things  and 
persons  when  the  sons  of  the  family  came  to  men's 
estate.  But  in  general  the  "  ape  and  tiger,"  still 
surviving  in  the  normal  human  being,  had  been  really 
and  effectively  tamed  in  the  Ellesborough  race. 
There  was  also  a  sensitive  delicacy  both  of  thought 
and  speech  among  them;  answering  to  more  im- 
portant and  tested  realities.  Their  marriages  were 
a  success;  their  children  were  well  brought  up,  under 
light  but  effective  control;  and,  if  it  be  true,  as  Ameri- 
cans are  ready  to  say,  that  the  old  conception  of 
marriage  is  being  slowly  but  profoundly  modified 
over  large  sections  of  their  great  Commonwealth, 
towards  a  laxity  undreamt  of  half  a  century  ago,  the 
Ellesboroughs  could  neither  be  taxed  nor  applauded 


76  HARVEST 

in  the  matter.  They  stood  by  the  old  ways,  and 
they  stood  by  them  whole-heartedly. 

Ellesborough  himself,  no  doubt,  had  knocked 
about  the  world  more  than  most  of  his  kindred,  and 
had  learnt  to  look  at  many  things  differently.  But 
essentially,  he  was  the  son  of  his  race.  His  attitude 
towards  women  was  at  once  reverential  and  pro- 
tective. He  believed  women  were  better  than  men, 
because  practically  he  had  found  it  so  in  his  own 
circle;  but  he  held  also  very  strong  beliefs,  seldom 
expressed,  as  to  their  social  disadvantages  and  their 
physical  weakness.  The  record  of  the  Germans 
towards  women  in  France  and  Flanders,  a  record 
he  had  verified  for  himself,  had  perhaps  done  more 
than  anything  else  to  feed  the  stern  flame  of  war 
in  his  own  soul.  At  thirty-two,  he  would  probably 
have  already  been  a  married  man,  but  for  the  war. 
He  rather  fiercely  held  that  it  was  a  man's  duty  to 
marry  and  have  children.  But  beyond  a  few  pass- 
ing fancies  he  had  never  been  in  love;  and  since  the 
American  declaration  of  war,  he  had  been,  like  his 
President,  out  to  "  make  the  world  safe  for 
democracy " ;  and  the  ardour  of  the  struggle  had 
swept  his  private  interests  out  of  sight. 

All  the  same  here  he  was,  walking  his  motor  cycle 
up  the  field  road  leading  to  Great  End  Farm,  and 
looking  eagerly  about  him.  A  lonely  position,  but 


HARVEST  77 

beautiful !  On  the  woods  behind  the  house  he  turned 
a  professional  eye.  Fine  timber!  The  man  who 
was  to  succeed  him  at  Ralstone  would  no  doubt  have 
the  cutting  of  it.  The  farm  quadrangle,  with  its 
sixteenth  century  barn,  out  of  which  the  corn  seemed 
to  be  actually  bursting  from  various  open  doors  and 
windows,  appeared  to  him  through  that  glamour 
which,  for  the  intelligent  American,  belongs  to 
everything  that  mediaeval  and  Elizabethan  England 
has  bequeathed  to  the  England  of  the  present.  He 
will  back  himself,  he  thinks,  to  plan  and  build  a 
modern  town  better  than  the  Britisher — in  any  case 
quicker.  But  the  mosses  and  tiles  of  an  old  Brook- 
shire  barn  beat  him. 

Ellesborough  paused  at  the  gate  to  watch  two 
land  lassies  carrying  pails  of  milk  across  the  yard 
towards  a  prolongation  of  the  farm-house,  which  he 
supposed  was  the  dairy.  Just  beyond  the  farm-yard, 
two  great  wheat-stacks  were  visible ;  while  in  the  hay- 
aelds  running  up  to  the  woods,  large  hay-stacks, 
already  nearly  thatched,  showed  dimly  in  the  evening 
light.  And  all  this  was  run  by  women,  worked  by 
women !  Well,  American  women,  so  he  heard  from 
home,  were  doing  the  same  in  the  fields  and  farms 
of  the  States.  It  was  all  part,  he  supposed,  of  a 
world  movement,  by  which,  no  less  than  by  the  war 
itself,  these  great  years  would  be  for  ever  remem- 
bered. 


78  HARVEST 

The  farm-house  itself,  however,  seemed  to  him 
from  the  outside  a  poor,  flimsy  thing,  unworthy  of 
the  old  farm  buildings.  He  could  see  that  the  walls 
of  it  were  only  a  brick  thick,  and  in  spite  of  the  pretty 
curtains,  he  was  struck  by  the  odd  feature  of  the 
two  large  windows  exactly  opposite  each  other,  so 
that  a  spectator  on  either  side  of  the  house  might 
look  right  through  it. 

"  Seems  like  being  in  the  street.  However,  if 
there's  nobody  to  look  at  you,  I  suppose  it  don't 


matter." 


Then  he  laughed,  for  just  as  he  Ted  his  motor 
cycle  into  the  yard,  and  passed  the  sitting-room  win- 
dow, he  was  struck  by  the  appearance  of  two  large 
sheep,  who  seemed  to  be  actually  in  the  sitting-room, 
at  its  farther  end.  They  were  standing,  he  presently 
perceived,  upon  the  steep  down  beyond  the  house, 
on  the  slope  of  which  the  farm  was  built;  which  on 
the  southern  side  of  the  farm  quadrangle  came  right 
up  to  the  house  wall.  At  the  same  moment  he  saw 
a  woman  inside  get  up  and  shoo  them  from  the  open 
window,  so  that  they  ran  away. 

But  when  Jenny  Harberton  had  admitted  him,  and 
he  was  waiting  in  the  sitting-room,  from  which  the 
woman  he  had  seen  had  disappeared,  he  was  in  the 
mood  to  admire  everything.  How  nice  the  two 
women  had  made  it!  His  own  rough  life,  both  be- 


HARVEST  79 

fore  and  since  the  war,  had  only  increased  a  natural 
instinct  for  order  and  seemliness.  The  pretty  blue 
paper,  the  fresh  drugget,  the  photographs  on  the 
wall,  the  flowers,  and  the  delicate  neatness  of  every- 
thing delighted  him.  He  went  round  looking  at  the 
pictures  and  the  few  books,  perfectly  conscious  that 
everything  which  he  saw  had  a  more  than  common 
interest  for  him.  The  room  seemed  to  be  telling  a 
story — opening  points  of  view. 

"Ah!" 

He  paused,  a  broad  smile  overspreading  his 
bronzed  face. 

For  he  had  perceived  a  popular  History  of  the 
War  lying  open  and  face  downwards  on  the  table, 
one  that  he  had  recommended  to  the  mistress  of  the 
farm.  So  she  had  followed  his  advice.  It  pleased 
him  particularly!  He  had  gathered  that  she  was 
never  a  great  reader;  still,  she  was  an  educated 
woman,  she  ought  to  know  something  of  what  her 
country  had  done. 

And  there  was  actually  a  piano!  He  wondered 
whether  she  played,  or  her  friend. 

Meanwhile  Rachel  was  changing  her  dress  up- 
stairs— rather  deliberately.  She  did  not  want  to 
look  too  glad  to  see  her  visitor,  to  flatter  him  by  too 
much  hurry.  When  he  arrived  she  had  just  come  in 
from  the  fields  where  she  had  been  at  the  threshing 


8o  HARVEST 

machine  all  day.  It  had  covered  her  with  dirt  and 
chaff;  and  the  process  of  changing  was  only  half 
through  when  she  heard  the  rattle  of  Ellesborough's 
cycle  outside.  She  stood  now  before  the  glass,  a 
radiant  daughter  of  air  and  earth;  her  veins,  as  it 
were,  still  full  of  the  sheer  pleasure  of  her  long  day 
among  the  stubbles  and  the  young  stock.  She  was 
tired,  of  course;  and  she  knew  very  well  that  the 
winter,  when  it  came,  would  make  a  great  difference, 
and  that  much  of  the  work  before  her  would  be  hard 
and  disagreeable.  But  for  the  moment,  her  deep 
satisfaction  with  the  life  she  had  chosen,  the  con- 
gruity  between  it  and  her,  gave  her  a  peculiar  charm. 
She  breathed  content,  and  there  is  no  more  beautify- 
ing thing. 

She  had  thought  a  good  deal  about  Ellesborough 
since  their  meeting;  yet  not  absorbingly,  for  she  had 
her  work  to  do.  She  was  rather  inclined  to  quarrel 
with  him  for  having  been  so  long  in  making  his  call; 
and  this  feeling,  perhaps,  induced  her  to  dawdle  a 
little  over  the  last  touches  of  her  toilet.  She  had 
put  on  a  thin,  black  dress,  which  tamed  the  ex- 
uberance of  her  face  and  hair,  and  set  off  the  bril- 
liance and  fineness  of  her  skin  where  the  open  blouse 
displayed  it.  The  beautiful  throat  was  sunburnt, 
indeed,  but  not  unbecomingly  so;  and  she  was  about 
to  fasten  round  it  a  slender  gold  chain,  when  she 


HARVEST  8 1 

suddenly  dropped  the  chain.  Some  association  had 
passed  through  her  mind  which  made  her  shrink 
from  it. 

She  chose  instead  a  necklace  of  bluish-green  beads, 
long,  and  curiously  interwoven,  which  gave  a  touch 
of  dignity  to  the  plain  dress.  Then  she  paused  to 
consider  the  whole  effect,  in  a  spirit  of  meditation 
rather  than  mere  vanity.  "  I  wish  he  knew! "  she 
thought,  and  the  glass  reflected  a  frown  of  perplex- 
ity. Had  she  been  wise,  after  all,  to  make  such  a 
complete  mystery  of  the  past?  People  in  and  about 
Ipscombe  would  probably  know  some  time — what 
all  her  Canadian  friends  knew.  And  then,  the 
thought  of  the  endless  explanations  and  gossip,  of 
the  horrid  humiliation  involved  in  any  renewed  con- 
tact whatever  with  the  ugly  things  she  had  put  be- 
hind her,  roused  a  sudden,  surging  disgust. 

'  Yes,  I  was  quite  right,"  she  thought  vehemently. 
"  I  was  quite  right!  " 

Voices  in  the  room  downstairs !  That  meant  that 
Janet  had  gone  in  to  greet  the  visitor.  Should  they 
ask  him  to  stay  for  supper?  The  vicar  was  coming, 
and  his  pious  little  sister.  There  would  be  quite 
enough  to  eat.  Cold  ham,  potatoes  and  salad,  with 
their  own  butter  and  bread — Janet  made  beautiful 
bread — was  enough  for  anybody  in  war  time. 
Rachel  was  in  the  mood  to  feel  a  certain  childish 


82  HARVEST 

exultation  in  the  plenty  of  the  farm,  amid  the  gener?,! 
rationing.  The  possession  of  her  seven  milch  cows, 
the  daily  pleasure  of  the  milk,  morning  and  eve- 
ning, the  sight  of  the  rich  separated  cream,  and  of 
the  butter  as  it  came  fresh  from  the  churn,  the  grow- 
ing weight  and  sleekness  of  the  calves;  all  these 
things  gave  her  a  warm  sense  of  protection  against 
the  difficulties  and  restrictions  of  the  war.  She  and 
Janet  were  "  self-suppliers."  No  need  to  bother 
about  ounces  of  butter,  or  spoonfuls  of  cream.  Of 
course  they  sold  all  they  could,  but  they  could  still 
feed  their  few  guests  well — better,  perhaps,  than 
any  of  the  folk  in  the  villa  houses  round  Mills- 
borough. 

"  Yes !  and  no  one's  leave  to  ask !  " 

She  threw  out  her  arms  in  a  vehement  gesture 
as  she  turned  away  from  the  glass.  It  was  the  ges- 
ture of  a  wild  bird  taking  flight. 

By  which,  however,  she  was  not  hurling  defiance 
at  the  gentle  but  most  efficient  little  lady  who  repre- 
sented the  Food  Control  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 
the  mere  sight  of  whom  was  enough  to  jog  uneasy 
consciences  in  the  matter  of  rations.  Rachel  was 
long  since  on  the  best  of  terms  with  her. 

Captain  Ellesborough  was  asked  to  stay  to  supper, 
and  gladly  accepted.  The  vicar  and  his  young  sister 


HARVEST  83 

arrived  and  were  introduced  to  the  American.  Betty 
and  Jenny,  alarmed  at  so  much  company  and  the 
quality  of  it,  hurriedly  asked  to  be  allowed  to  take 
their  meal  in  the  tiny  scullery  behind  the  living  room. 
But  the  democratic  and  dissenting  Janet  would  not 
hear  of  it.  There  was  room  for  everybody,  she 
said,  and  while  she  lived  in  it  there  should  only  be 
one  table  for  all  who  worked  on  the  farm.  If  the 
vicar  and  Miss  Shenstone  objected,  she  was  sorry 
for  them.  But  they  wouldn't  object. 

So  the  small  living  room  of  the  farm  was  soon 
full  of  a  merry  company :  the  two  mistresses,  in  their 
Sunday  frocks,  the  land  girls  in  their  uniforms,  the 
young  vicar  in  a  short  coat  and  round  collar,  his 
little  sister  of  nineteen,  who  was  training  to  be  a 
missionary,  and  carried  about  with  her  already  the 
sweet  and  dedicated  look  of  her  calling;  and  Elles- 
borough,  a  striking  and  manly  figure  in  full  khaki. 
Ellesborough  was  on  Rachel's  right,  the  vicar  on 
Janet's;  Miss  Shenstone  sat  between  the  two  girls, 
and  was  so  far  from  objecting  to  their  company  that 
she  no  sooner  found  she  was  to  sit  next  the  daughter 
of  her  brother's  handy-man  than  her  childish  face 
flushed  with  pleasure.  She  had  seen  Jenny  already 
at  her  brother's  Bible-class,  and  she  had  been  drawn 
to  her.  Something  in  the  character  of  the  labourer's 
daughter  seemed  to  make  a  special  appeal  to  the  deli- 


84  HARVEST 

cate  and  mystical  temper  of  the  vicar's  sister,  in 
whom  the  ardour  of  the  "  watcher  for  souls  "  was 
a  natural  gift.  Jenny  seemed  to  be  aware  of  it.  She 
was  flushed  and  a  little  excited,  alternately  shy  and 
communicative — like  the  bird  under  fascination, 
already  alive  to  the  signal  of  its  captor.  At  any 
rate,  Margaret  Shenstone  kept  both  her  companions 
happy  through  the  meal. 

The  vicar  employed  himself  in  vigorously  making 
friends  with  Janet  Leighton,  keenly  alive  all  the  time 
to  that  vivid  and  flower-like  vision  of  Miss  Hender- 
son at  the  farther  end  of  the  table.  But  some  in- 
stinct warned  him  that  beside  the  splendid  fellow  in 
khaki  his  own  claim  on  her  could  be  but  a  modest 
one.  He  must  watch  his  opportunity.  It  was  natural 
that  certain  misgivings  had  already  begun  to  rise  in 
the  mind  of  his  elder  sister,  Eleanor,  who  was  his 
permanent  companion  and  housekeeper  at  the  vicar- 
age. For  why  should  her  brother  be  so  specially 
assiduous  in  the  harvest  operations  at  Great  End? 
She  was  well  aware  that  it  was  the  right  and  popular 
thing  for  the  young  clergy  who  were  refused  service 
at  the  front  to  be  seen  in  their  shirt  sleeves  as  agri- 
cultural volunteers,  or  in  some  form  of  war  work. 
A  neighbouring  curate  in  whom  she  was  greatly  in- 
terested spent  the  greater  part  of  his  week,  for 
instance,  on  munition  work  at  a  national  factory. 


HARVEST  85 

She  thought  him  a  hero.  But  if  it  was  to  be  harvest- 
ing, then  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  brother  should 
have  divided  his  help  more  evenly  among  the  farms 
of  the  village.  She  was  afraid  of  "  talk.*'  And  it 
troubled  her  greatly  that  neither  Miss  Henderson 
nor  Miss  Leighton  came  to  church. 

Meanwhile,  the  vicar,  like  a  wise  man,  was  secur- 
ing the  position  with  Janet.  What  he  wished,  what 
he  was  really  driving  at,  he  would  not  let  himself 
inquire.  What  he  knew  was  that  no  woman  had  ever 
fluttered  his  quiet  mind  as  Miss  Henderson  had  flut- 
tered it  during  these  summer  weeks.  To  watch  her, 
erect  and  graceful,  "  pitching  "  the  sheaves  on  to 
the  harvest  cart,  where  he  and  a  labourer  received 
and  packed  them;  to  be  privileged  to  lead  the  full 
cart  home,  with  her  smile  and  thanks  at  the  barn 
door  for  reward,  or  to  stand  with  her  while  she 
proudly  watched  her  new  reaping  machine,  with  the 
three  fine  horses  abreast,  sweeping  round  her  big- 
gest field,  while  the  ripe  sheaves  fell  beside  it,  as 
of  old  they  fell  beside  the  reapers  that  Hoephoestus 
wrought  in  gleaming  gold  on  the  shield  of  Achilles; 
and  then  perhaps  to  pay  a  last  visit  with  her  to 
the  farm  buildings  in  the  warm  dusk  and  watch  the 
cattle  coming  in  from  the  fields  and  the  evening  feed, 
and  all  the  shutting  up  for  the  night  after  the  long, 
hot,  busy  day:  these  things  had  lately  made  a 


86  HARVEST 

veritable  idyll  of  the  vicar's  life.  He  felt  as  though 
a  hundred  primitive  sensations  and  emotions,  that 
he  had  only  talked  of  or  read  about  before,  had  at 
last  become  real  to  him.  Oxford  memories  revived. 
He  actually  felt  a  wish  to  look  at  his  Virgil  or  The- 
ocritus again,  such  as  had  never  stirred  in  him  since 
he  had  packed  his  Oxford  books  to  send  home,  after 
the  sobering  announcement  of  his  third  class.  After 
all,  it  seemed  these  old  fellows  knew  something  about 
the  earth  and  its  joys ! 

So  that  a  golden  light  lay  over  these  past  weeks. 
And  in  the  midst  of  it  stood  the  figure  of  a  silent 
and — as  far  as  he  was  concerned — rather  difficult 
woman,  without  which  there  would  have  been  no 
transfiguring  light  at  all.  He  confessed  to  himself 
that  she  had  never  had  much  to  say  to  him.  But 
wherever  she  was  she  drew  the  male  creature  after 
her.  There  was  no  doubt  as  to  that.  She  was  a 
good  employer — fair,  considerate,  intelligent;  but  it 
was  the  woman — so  the  vicar  believed — who  got  her 
way. 

From  which  it  will  be  seen  that  Miss  Eleanor 
Shenstone  had  some  reason  for  misgiving,  and  that 
the  vicar's  own  peace  of  mind  was  in  danger.  His 
standards  also  were  no  longer  what  they  were.  He 
had  really  ceased  to  care  that  Miss  Leighton  was  a 
Unitarian ! 


HARVEST  87 

"I  suppose  you  have  been  horribly  busy?"  said 
Rachel  to  Ellesborough,  when,  thanks  to  the  exer- 
tions of  Janet  and  the  two  girls,  everybody  had  been 
provided  with  a  first  course. 

"  Not  more  than  usual.  Do  you  mean "  He 

looked  at  her,  smiling,  and  Rachel's  eyebrows  went 
up  slightly.  "  Ah,  I  see — you  thought  I  had  for- 
gotten?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  said  indifferently.  "  It  is  a  long 
way  to  come." 

He  flushed  a  little. 

'  That  never  occurred  to  me  for  a  moment!  "  he 
said  with  emphasis.  "  But  you  said  you  would  have 
finished  with  the  harvest  in  a  week.  So  I  waited.  I 
didn't  want  to  be  a  nuisance." 

At  which  she  smiled,  a  smile  that  overflowed  eyes 
and  lips,  and  stirred  the  senses  of  the  man  beside 
her. 

"  How  is  the  prisoner?  " 

"  Poor  boy!  He  died  the  day  before  yesterday. 
We  did  everything  we  could,  but  he  had  no  chance 
from  the  first.  Hard  lines !  " 

;t  Why,  he  might  have  been  home  next  year!  " 

"  He  might,  indeed.  Yes,  Miss  Henderson,  it'll 
be  peace  next  year — perhaps  this  year !  Who  knows ! 
But  I  hope  I'll  have  a  look  in  first.  I've  got  my 
orders.  As  soon  as  they've  appointed  my  successor 


88  HARVEST 

here,  I'm  off.  About  a  month,  I  suppose.  They've 
accepted  me  for  the  Air  Force." 

His  eyes  glowed.  Rachel  said  nothing.  She  felt 
hurt  that  he  expressed  no  regret  at  going.  Then 
the  vicar  struck  into  the  conversation  with  some  en- 
thusiastic remarks  about  the  steady  flowing  in  of  the 
American  army.  That,  indeed,  was  the  great,  the 
overpowering  fact  of  these  August  days.  Ellesbor- 
ough  responded  eagerly,  describing  the  huge  convoy 
with  which  he  himself  had  come  over;  and  that 
amazing,  that  incredible  march  across  three  thou- 
sand miles  of  sea  and  land,  which  every  day  was 
pouring  into  the  British  Isles,  and  so  into  France, 
some  15,000  men — the  flower  of  American  man- 
hood, come  to  the  rescue  of  the  world.  He  told  the 
great  story  well,  with  the  graphic  phrases  of  a  quick 
mind,  well  fed  on  facts,  yet  not  choked  by  them. 
The  table  hung  on  him.  Even  little  Jenny,  with 
parted  lips,  would  not  have  missed  a  word. 

He  meanwhile  was  led  on — for  he  was  not  a  man 
of  facile  or  boastful  speech — by  the  eyes  of  Rachel 
Henderson,  and  those  slight  gestures  or  movements 
by  which  from  time  to  time  when  the  talk  flagged 
she  would  set  it  going  again. 

Margaret  Shenstone  was  particularly  stirred. 

"  What  friends  we  shall  be !  "  she  said  presently, 
with  a  long,  quivering  breath — "  I  mean  America 


HARVEST  89 

and  England.  Friends  for  ever !  And  we  quarrelled 
once.  That's  so  wonderful.  That  shows  good  does 
come  out  of  evil!  " 

"  I  should  jolly  well  think  so,"  said  Ellesborough, 
looking  kindly  at  the  young  girl.  "  Why,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  this  war,  millions  of  these  boys  who  are 
coming  over  now  would  never  have  seen  England  or 
Europe  at  all.  It'll  change  the  face  of  everything!  " 

"  Only  we  must  play  up,"  said  the  vicar  anxiously. 
"  We  must  get  rid  of  our  abominable  shyness,  and 
let  your  people  really  see  how  we  really  welcome 
them." 

Rachel  gave  a  little  defiant  shake  of  the  head. 

"  America's  got  to  thank  us,  too !  "  she  said,  with 
a  challenging  look  at  Ellesborough.  "  We've  borne 
it  for  four  years.  Now  it's  your  turn !  " 

"  Well,  here  we  are,"  said  Ellesborough  quietly, 
"up  to  the  neck.  But — of  course — don't  thank  us. 
It's  our  business  just  as  much  as  yours." 

The  talk  dropped  a  moment,  and  Janet  took  ad- 
vantage of  it  to  bring  in  coffee  as  a  finish  to  the 
meal.  Under  cover  of  the  slight  bustle,  Ellesbor- 
ough said  to  Rachel,  in  a  voice  no  longer  meant  for 
the  table, — 

"  Could  you  spare  me  a  letter  sometimes,  Miss 
Henderson — at  the  front?  " 

He  had  both  elbows  on  the  table,  and  was  playing 


90  HARVEST 

with  a  cigarette.  There  was  nothing  the  least 
patronizing  or  arrogant  in  his  manner.  But  there 
was  a  male  note  in  it — perhaps  a  touch  of  self-confi- 
dence— which  ruffled  her. 

"  Oh,  I  am  a  bad  letter-writer,"  she  said,  as  she 
got  up  from  the  table.  "  Shall  we  go  and  look  at 
the  cows?" 

They  all  went  out  into  the  warm  September  night. 
Ellesborough  followed  Rachel,  cigarette  in  hand,  his 
strong  mouth  twisting  a  little.  The  night  was  almost 
cloudless.  The  pale  encircling  down,  patched  at 
intervals  with  dark  hanging  woods,  lay  quiet  under 
a  sky  full  of  faint  stars.  The  scent  of  the  stubble- 
fields,  of  the  great  corn-stack  just  beyond  the  farm- 
yard, of  the  big  barn  so  full  that  the  wide  wooden 
doors  could  not  be  closed,  was  mingled  with  the 
strong  ammonia  smells  of  the  farm-yard,  and  here 
and  there  with  the  sweetness  left  in  the  evening  air 
by  the  chewing  cows  on  their  passage  to  the  cow- 
house on  the  farther  side  of  the  yard. 

Rachel  led  the  way  to  the  cow-house — a  vast  fif- 
teenth-century barn,  with  an  interlacing  forest  of 
timber  in  its  roof,  where  the  six  cows  stood  ranged, 
while  Janet  and  the  two  land  lassies,  with  Hastings 
the  bailiff  to  help  them,  were  changing  the  litter  and 
filling  up  the  racks  with  hay.  Rachel  went  along 
the  line  pointing  out  the  beauties  of  each  separate 


HARVEST  91 

beast  to  Ellesborough,  and  caressing  two  little  calves 
whom  Jenny  was  feeding  by  hand.  Ellesborough 
was  amused  by  her  technical  talk  and  her  proprietor's 
airs.  It  seemed  to  him  a  kind  of  play-acting,  but  it 
fascinated  him.  Janet  had  brought  in  a  lantern,  and 
the  light  and  shade  of  it  seemed  to  have  been 
specially  devised  to  bring  into  relief  Rachel's  round 
and  tempting  beauty,  the  bright  brown  of  her  hair 
where  it  curled  on  the  temples,  and  the  lovely  oval 
of  the  cheeks.  Ellesborough  watched  her,  now 
passing  into  deep  shadow,  and  now  brilliantly  lit  up, 
as  the  light  of  the  lantern  caught  her;  overhead, 
the  criss-cross  of  the  arching  beams  as  of  some  primi- 
tive cathedral,  centuries  old;  and  on  either  side  the 
dim  forms  of  the  munching  cattle,  and  the  pretty 
movements  of  the  girls  busy  with  their  work. 

'  Take  care,"  laughed  Rachel  as  she  passed  him. 
;'  There  are  horrid  holes  in  this  floor.  I  haven't 
had  time  to  mend  them." 

As  she  spoke,  she  slipped  and  almost  fell.  Elles- 
borough threw  out  a  quick  hand  and  caught  her  by 
the  arm.  She  smiled  into  his  face. 

"  Neatly  done !  "  she  said  composedly,  submitting 
to  be  led  by  him  over  a  very  broken  bit  of  pavement 
near  the  door.  His  hand  held  her  firmly.  Nor  did 
she  make  any  effort  to  release  herself  till  they  were 
outside.  Here  were  the  vicar  and  his  sister  waiting 


92  HARVEST 

to  say  good-night — the  vicar  much  chagrined  that 
he  had  seen  so  little  of  his  chief  hostess,  and  inclined 
to  feel  that  his  self-sacrificing  attention  to  Miss 
Leighton  at  supper  had  been  but  poorly  rewarded. 
Rachel,  however,  saw  that  he  was  out  of  humour, 
and  at  once  set  herself  to  appease  him.  And  in  the 
few  minutes  which  elapsed  before  she  parted  with 
him  at  the  gate  she  had  quite  succeeded. 

Then  she  turned  to  Ellesborough. 

"  Shall  we  go  up  the  hill  a  little  ?  " 

They  slipped  through  a  side  gate  of  the  farm- 
yard, crossed  a  field,  and  found  themselves  on  an 
old  grass  road  leading  gently  upward  along  the  side 
of  the  down  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods.  The 
still,  warm  night  held  them  enwrapped.  Rachel  had 
thrown  a  white  scarf  over  her  head  and  throat, 
which  gave  a  mysterious  charm  to  the  face  within  it. 
!As  she  strolled  beside  her  new  friend  she  played 
him  with  all  the  arts  of  a  woman  resolved  to  please. 
And  he  allowed  himself  to  be  handled  at  her  will. 
He  told  her  about  his  people,  and  his  friends,  about 
the  ideas  and  ambitions,  also,  with  which  he  had 
come  to  Europe,  which  were  now  in  abeyance,  but 
were  to  spring  to  active  life  after  the  war.  Forestry 
on  a  great  scale;  a  part  to  be  played  in  the  preserva- 
tion and  development  of  the  vast  forest  areas  of 
America  which  had  been  so  wilfully  wasted;  busi- 


HARVEST  93 

ness  and  patriotism  combined;  fortune  possible;  but 
in  any  case  the  public  interest  served.  He  talked 
shrewdly,  but  also  with  ardour  and  imagination ;  she 
was  stirred,  excited  even;  and  all  the  time  she  liked 
the  foreignness  of  his  voice,  the  outline  of  his  profile 
against  the  sky,  and  all  the  other  elements  of  his 
physical  presence. 

But  in  the  midst  of  his  castle-building  he  broke 
off. 

"  However,  I'm  a  silly  fool  to  talk  like  this.  I'm 
going  out  to  the  front  directly.  Perhaps  my  bul- 
let's waiting  for  me." 

"  Oh,  no!"  she  said  involuntarily — "no!" 

"  I  hope  not.  I  don't  want  to  die  just  yet.  I 
want  to  get  married,  for  one  thing." 

He  spoke  lightly,  and  she  laughed. 

"  Well,  that's  easy  enough." 

He  shook  his  head,  but  said  nothing.  They 
walked  on  till  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  hill,  when 
Rachel,  out  of  breath,  sat  down  on  a  fallen  log  to 
rest  a  little.  Below  them  stretched  the  hollow  up- 
land, with  its  encircling  woods  and  its  white  stubble 
fields.  Far  below  lay  the  dark  square  of  the  farm, 
with  a  light  in  one  of  its  windows. 

Rachel  pointed  to  the  grass  road  by  which  thejr 
had  come. 

"  We  haven't  seen  the  ghost!  " 


94  HARVEST 

He  asked  her  for  the  story,  and  she  told  it.  By 
now  she  had  pieced  it  all  together;  and  it  seemed 
to  Ellesborough  that  it  had  a  morbid  fascination  for 
her. 

"  He  dragged  himself  down  this  very  path,"  she 
said.  '  They  tracked  him  by  the  blood  stains ;  his 
wounds  dripped  all  along  it.  And  then  he  fell,  just 
under  my  cart-shed.  It  was  a  horrible,  bitter  night. 
Of  course  the  silly  people  here  say  they  hear  groans 
and  dragging  steps.  That's  all  nonsense,  but  I 
sometimes  wish  it  hadn't  happened  at  my  farm." 

He  couldn't  help  laughing  gently  at  her  foolish- 
ness. 

"  Why,  it's  a  great  distinction  to  have  a  ghost!  " 

She  disagreed — decidedly. 

"'Any  one  can  have  my  ghost  that  wants.  I'm 
awfully  easily  scared." 

"Are  you?"  There  was  a  deep  note  in  his 
voice.  "  No,  I  don't  believe  that.  I'm  sure  you're 
a  plucky  woman.  I  know  you  are  I  " 

She  laughed  out. 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Why,  no  one  but  a  plucky  woman  could 
have  taken  this  farm  and  be  working  it  as  you're 
doing." 

"That's  not  pluck,"  she  said,  half  scornfully. 
"  But  if  it  is — well,  I've  got  plenty  of  pluck  of 


HARVEST  95 

that  kind.  But  I  am  often  scared,  downright  scared, 
about  nothing.  It's  just  fear,  that's  what  it  is." 

"Fear  of  what?" 

11 1  don't  know." 

She  spoke  in  a  sombre,  shrinking  tone,  which 
struck  him  uncomfortably.  But  when  he  tried  fur- 
ther to  discover  what  she  meant,  she  would  say 
nothing  more.  He  noticed,  indeed,  that  she  would 
often  seem  to  turn  the  talk  upon  herself,  only  to  cut 
it  short  again  immediately.  She  offered  him  open- 
ings, and  then  he  could  make  nothing  of  them;  so 
that  when  they  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  farm 
on  their  return,  he  had  given  her  all  the  main  out- 
lines of  his  own  history,  and  she  had  said  almost 
nothing  of  hers. 

But  all  the  same  the  walk  had  drawn  them  much 
nearer. 

He  stopped  her  at  the  little  gate  to  say, — 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  again — I  want  you  to 
write  to  me  when  I'm  in  France." 

And  this  time  she  said  almost  eagerly, — 

"Yes,  I'll  write;  indeed  I'll  write!  But  you'll 
come  over  again  before  you  go  ?  " 

"Rather,"  he  said  joyously;  "rather!  Why, 
there's  a  month.  You'll  be  tired  of  me  before 
you've  done." 

A  few  minutes  later  she  was  standing  in  her  own 


96  HARVEST 

little  room,  listening  to  the  retreating  rush  of  his 
motor-cycle  down  the  road.  There  was  a  great 
tumult  in  her  mind. 

"  Am  I  falling  in  love  with  him?  Am  I — am  I ?  " 
But  in  the  dark,  when  she  had  put  out  her  light, 
the  cry  that  shaped  itself  in  her  mind  was  identical 
with  that  sudden  misgiving  of  the  afternoon,  when 
on  Ellesborough's  arrival  she  had  first  heard  his 
voice  downstairs  talking  to  Janet. 

"  /  wish  he  knew/  "  But  this  time  it  was  no  mere 
passing  qualm.  It  had  grown  into  something  intense 
and  haunting. 

On  this  same  September  afternoon,  a  dark-eyed, 
shabby  woman,  with  a  little  girl,  alighted  at  Mills- 
borough  Station.  They  were  met  by  a  man  who  had 
been  lounging  about  the  station  for  some  time  and 
whose  appearance  had  attracted  some  attention. 

"  See  him  at  a  distance,  and  you  might  take  him 

for  a  lord;  but  get  him  close,  my  word! "  said 

the  station-master  to  the  booking-clerk,  with  a 
shrug,  implying  many  things. 

'  Wouldn't  give  a  bob  for  his  whole  blessed  turn- 
out," said  the  booking-clerk.  "  But  right  you  are, 
when  you  sort  of  get  the  hang  of  him,  far  enough 
away  on  the  other  platform,  might  be  a  dook !  " 

Meanwhile,  the  man  had  shouldered  some  of  the 


HARVEST  97 

bags  and  parcels  brought  by  the  woman  and  the 
child,  though  hardly  his  fair  share  of  them;  and  they 
finally  reached  the  exit  from  the  station. 

"  If  you're  going  into  the  town,  the  bus  will  be 
here  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  a  porter  civilly  to  the 
woman.  "  It'll  help  you  with  all  those  things." 

The  man  gruffly  answered  for  her  that  they  pre- 
ferred to  walk,  and  they  started,  the  woman  and  the 
child  dragging  wearily  beside  him. 

"  Now,  you've  got  to  be  content  with  what  I've 
found  for  you,"  he  said  to  her  roughly  as  they 
reached  the  first  houses  of  the  town.  "  There  isn't 
scarcely  a  lodging  or  a  cottage  to  be  had.  Partly 
it's  the  holidays  still,  and  partly  it's  silly  folk  like 
yoju — scared  of  raids." 

"  I  couldn't  go  through  another  winter  like  last, 
for  Nina's  sake,"  said  the  woman  plaintively. 

"  Why,  you  silly  goose,  there  won't  be  any  raids 
this  winter.  I've  told  you  so  scores  of  times. 
We've  got  the  upper  hand  now,  and  the  Boche  will 
keep  his  planes  at  home.  But  as  you  won't  listen  to 
me,  you've  got  to  have  your  way,  I  suppose.  Well, 
I've  got  you  rooms  of  a  sort.  They'll  have  to  do. 
I  haven't  got  money  enough  for  anything  decent." 

The  woman  made  no  reply,  and  to  the  porter  idly 
looking  after  them  they  were  soon  lost  from  sight 
in  the  gathering  dusk  of  the  road. 


THE  little  town  of  Millsborough  was  en  fete. 
There  was  a  harvest  festival  going  on,  and 
the  County  Agricultural  Committee  had 
taken  the  opportunity  to  celebrate  the  successful 
gathering  of  the  crops,  and  the  part  taken  in  it  by 
the  woman  land-workers  under  their  care.  They 
had  summoned  the  land  lasses  from  far  and  wide; 
in  a  field  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  competitions 
had  been  in  full  swing  all  the  morning,  and  now 
there  were  to  be  speeches  in  the  market-place,  and 
a  final  march  of  land  girls,  boy  scouts,  and  decorated 
wagons  to  the  old  Parish  Church,  where  a  service 
was  to  be  held. 

All  Millsborough,  indeed,  was  in  the  streets  to 
look  at  the  procession,  and  the  crowd  was  swelled 
by  scores  of  cadets  from  a  neighbouring  camp,  who 
were  good-heartedly  keeping  the  route,  and  giving 
a  military  air  to  the  show.  But  the  flower-decked 
wagons  were  the  centre  of  interest.  The  first  in  the 
line  was  really  a  brilliant  performance.  It  was  an 
old  wagon  of  Napoleonic  days,  lent  by  a  farmer, 
whose  forebears  had  rented  the  same  farm  since 

98 


HARVEST  99 

William  and  Mary.  Every  spoke  of  the  wheels 
blazed  with  red  geraniums;  there  was  a  fringe  of 
heather  along  the  edge  of  the  cart,  while  vegetables, 
huge  marrows,  turnips,  carrots,  and  onions  dangled 
from  its  sides,  and  the  people  inside  sat  under  a 
nodding  canopy  of  tall  and  splendid  wheat,  mixed 
with  feathery  barley.  But  the  passengers  were 
perhaps  the  most  attractive  thing  about  it.  They 
were  four  old  women  in  lilac  sunbonnets.  They 
were  all  over  seventy,  and  they  had  all  worked 
bravely  in  the  harvest.  The  crowd  cheered  them 
vociferously,  and  they  sat,  looking  timidly  out  on 
the  scene  with  smiling  eyes  and  tremulous  lips,  their 
grey  hair  blowing  about  their  wrinkled,  wholesome 
faces. 

Beside  the  wagon  walked  a  detachment  of  land 
girls.  One  of  them  was  the  granddaughter  of  one 
of  the  old  women,  and  occasionally  a  word  would 
pass  between  them. 

u  Eh,  Bessie,  but  I'd  like  to  git  down !  They  mun 
think  us  old  fools,  dizened  up  this  way." 

"  No,  gran;  you  must  bide.  You're  the  very  best 
bit  of  the  show.  Why,  just  listen  how  the  folk  cheer 
you!" 

The  old  woman  sighed. 

"  I'd  like  to  look  at  it  mysel',"  she  said  with  a 
childish  plaintiveness.  But  her  tall  granddaughter, 


ioo  HARVEST 

in  full  uniform,  with  a  rake  over  her  shoulder, 
thought  this  a  foolish  remark,  and  made  no 
reply. 

In  the  second  wagon,  Rachel  Henderson  in  full 
land-dress — tunic,  knee-breeches,  and  leggings — 
stood  in  the  front  of  the  cart,  guiding  two  white 
horses,  their  manes  and  tails  gaily  plaited  with  rib- 
bons, and  scarlet  badges  on  their  snowy  heads. 

"Eh,  but  yon's  a  fine  woman!"  said  an  old 
farmer  of  the  humbler  sort  to  his  neighbour. 
"  Yo'll  not  tell  me  she's  a  land  lassie?  " 

"  Noa,  noa;  she's  the  new  farmer  at  Great  End 
— a  proud  body,  they  say,  an'  a  great  hustler !  The 
men  say  she's  allus  at  'em.  But  they  don't  mind 
her  neither.  She  treats  'em  well.  Them's  her  two 
land  girls  walking  beside." 

For  Betty  and  Jenny  mounted  guard,  their  harvest 
rakes  on  their  shoulders,  beside  their  mistress,  who 
attracted  all  eyes  as  she  passed,  and  knew  it.  Be- 
hind her  in  the  cart  sat  Janet  Leighton;  and  the  two 
remaining  seats  were  filled  by  the  Vicar  of  Ipscombe 
and  Lady  'Alicia  Shepherd,  the  wife  of  the  owner  of 
Great  End  Farm  and  of  the  middle-sized  estate  to 
which  the  farm  belonged. 

Lady  Alicia  was  a  thin  woman,  with  an  excitable 
temperament,  to  judge  from  her  restless  mouth  and 
eyes,  which  were  never  still  for  a  moment.  She  was 


HARVEST  '     loi 

very  fashionably  dressed  and  held  a  lace  parasol. 
The  crowd  scarcely  recognized  her,  which  annoyed 
her,  for  in  her  own  estimation  she  was  an  important 
member  of  the  Women's  Committee  which  looked 
after  the  land  girls.  The  war  had  done  a  great 
deal  for  Lady  Alicia.  It  had  dragged  her  from  a 
sofa,  where  she  was  rapidly  becoming  a  neurasthenic 
invalid,  and  had  gradually  drilled  her  into  some- 
thing like  a  working  day.  She  lived  in  a  flurry  of 
committees;  but  as  committees  must  exist,  and  Lady 
Alicias  must  apparently  be  on  them;  she  had  found 
a  sort  of  vocation,  and  with  the  help  of  other  per- 
sons of  more  weight  she  had  not  done  badly. 

She  did  not  quite  understand  how  it  was  that  she 
found  herself  in  Miss  Henderson's  wagon.  The 
committee  had  refused  to  have  a  wagon  of  its  own, 
and  the  good-natured  vicar  had  arranged  it  for  her. 
She  did  not  herself  much  like  Miss  Henderson.  Her 
husband  had  sent  her  to  call  upon  the  new  tenants, 
and  she  had  been  much  puzzled.  They  were  ladies, 
she  supposed.  They  spoke  quite  nicely,  and  Miss 
Henderson  seemed  to  be  the  daughter  of  a  clergy- 
man. But  she  was  afraid  they  were  dreadful  So- 
cialists !  She  had  talked  to  Miss  Henderson  about 
the  awful — the  wicked — wages  that  the  Brookshire 
board  had  just  fixed  for  the  labourer. 

"  My  husband  says  they'll  simply  crush  the  life 


102  HARVEST 

out  of  farming.  We  shall  all  be  ruined,  and  where 
will  the  labourer  be  then  ?  " 

And  Miss  Henderson  had  looked  quite  unpleas- 
ant. It  was  high  time,  she  said,  that  the  labourer 
should  have  enough  to  live  on — decently;  really 
thrown  the  word  at  you.  And  Colonel  Shepherd 
had  told  his  wife  that  he  understood  from  Hastings 
Miss  Henderson  had  raised  her  wages  before  the 
award  of  the  Wages  Board.  Well,  he  only  hoped 
the  young  woman  had  got  some  money  behind 
her,  otherwise  she  would  be  finding  herself 
in  Queer  Street  and  he  would  be  whistling  for 
his  rent. 

The  wagons  drew  up  in  the  centre  of  the 
market-place,  and  the  band  which  the  cadets  had 
brought  with  them  struck  up  "  God  Save  the  King." 
Lady  Alicia  rose  at  once  and  nudged  her  little  boy, 
whom  she  had  brought  with  her,  to  take  off  his  cap. 
She  looked  approvingly  over  the  crowd,  which  was 
growing  denser  and  denser  every  moment.  It  was 
so  that  she  really  enjoyed  the  populace — at  a  safe 
distance — and  ready  to  lend  itself  to  the  blandish- 
ments of  its  natural  leaders.  Where  was  her  hus- 
band, Colonel  Shepherd?  Of  course  they  would 
want  him  to  speak  at  some  time  in  the  proceedings. 
But  she  looked  for  him  in  vain. 

Meanwhile,  the  speaking  was  beginning  from  the 


HARVEST  103 

first  cart.  A  land  girl  who  had  played  a  rousing 
part  in  the  recruiting  campaign  of  the  early  summer 
was  speaking  in  a  high  voice,  clearly  heard  by  the 
crowd.  She  was  tall  and  pretty,  and  spoke  without 
a  sign  of  hesitation  or  self-consciousness.  She 
gloried  in  the  harvest,  in  the  splendid  news  from 
the  war,  in  the  growth  of  the  Woman's  Land  Army. 
"  We've  just  been  proud  to  do  our  bit  at  home 
while  our  boys  have  been  fighting  over  there. 
They'll  be  home  soon,  perhaps,  and  won't  we  give 
them  a  welcome!  And  we'll  show  them  the  har- 
vest that  we've  helped  to  reap — the  biggest  harvest 
that  England's  ever  known! — the  harvest  that's 
going  to  beat  the  Boche."  The  young  simple  voice 
flowed  on,  with  its  simple  story  and  its  note  of  en- 
thusiasm, and  sometimes  of  .humour.  "  It's  hard 
work,  but  we  love  it !  It's  cold  work  often,  but  we 
love  it!  The  horses  and  the  cows  and  the  pigs — 
they're  naughty  often,  but  they're  nice! — yes,  the 
pigs,  too.  It's  the  beasts  and  the  fields  and  the  open 
air  we  love !  " 

Betty  looked  at  Jenny  with  a  grin. 

"Jenny! — them  pigsties  yesterday;  d'ye  think 
she's  ever  cleaned  one  out?" 

"  I  know  she  has,"  said  Jenny  confidentially. 
"  She's  Farmer  Green's  girl,  out  Ralstone  way. 
Ee  says  there  ain't  nothing  she  can't  do.  Ee  don't 


;i04  HARVEST 

want  no  men  while  he's  got  'er.    They  offered  him 
soldiers,  and  ee  wouldn't  have  'em." 

"Silly,  sentimental  young  woman,"  said  a  tall 
man,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  who  had  just  lounged 
up  to  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  from  a  side  street. 
"Who's  she  going  to  take  in  here?  What's  the 
good  of  talking  poetry  about  farming  to  a  lot  of 
country  people?  A  London  shop-girl,  I  guess. 
What  does  she  know  about  it?  " 

'  You  bets  she  knows  a  lot,"  said  a  young  man 
beside  him,  who,  to  judge  from  his  uniform,  was 
one  of  the  Canadians  employed  at  Ralstone  camp. 
He  had  been  taken  with  the  "  sentimental  young 
woman,"  and  was  annoyed  by  the  uncivil  remarks 
of  his  neighbour.  "  Wonder  what  farm  she's 
on?" 

"  Oh,  you  know  these  parts?  "  said  the  other,  re- 
moving his  pipe  for  a  moment  and  looking  down 
on  his  companion. 

"  Well,  not  exactly."  The  reply  was  hesitating. 
"  My  grandfather  went  out  to  Canada  from  a  place 
near  here  sixty  years  ago.  I  used  to  hear  him  and 
my  mother  talk  about  Millsborough." 

"  Beastly  hole !  "  said  the  other,  replacing  his 
pipe. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you  at  all,"  said  the  other 


HARVEST  105 

angrily.  "  It's  as  nice  a  little  town  of  its  size  as 
you'd  find  anywhere." 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders.  A  man  a  few 
yards  off  in  the  crowd  happened  at  that  moment  to 
be  looking  in  the  direction  of  the  two  speakers.  It 
was  the  ticket-collector  at  the  station,  enjoying  an 
afternoon  off.  He  recognized  the  taller  of  the  two 
men  as  the  "  dook  "  he  had  seen  at  Millsborough 
station  about  a  week  ago.  The  man's  splendid  car- 
riage and  iron-grey  head  were  not  to  be  mistaken — 
also  his  cadaverous  and  sickly  look,  and  his  shabby 
clothes.  The  ticket-collector  saw  that  the  man  was 
holding  the  dark-eyed,  "  furrin-looking "  child  by 
the  hand,  which  the  woman  he  met  had  brought 
down  with  her.  "  Furriners,"  he  supposed,  all  of 
them;  part  of  that  stream  of  fugitives  from  air  raids 
that  had  been  flowing  out  of  London  during  the  pre- 
ceding winter,  and  was  now  flowing  out  again,  as 
the  next  winter  approached,  though  in  less  volume. 
Every  house  and  lodging  in  Millsborough  was  full, 
prices  had  gone  up  badly,  and  life  in  Millsborough 
was  becoming  extremely  uncomfortable  for  its  nor- 
mal inhabitants — "  all  along  o'  these  panicky 
aliens !  "  thought  the  ticket-collector,  resentfully,  as 
he  looked  at  the  tall  man. 

The  tall  man,  however,  was  behaving  as  though 
the  market-place  belonged  to  him,  talking  to  his 


io6  HARVEST 

neighbours,  who  mostly  looked  at  him  askance,  and 
every  now  and  then  breaking  into  a  contemptuous 
laugh,  provoked  apparently  by  the  eloquence  of  the 
young  woman  in  the  wagon.  Meanwhile  the  little 
girl  whose  hand  he  held  was  trying  to  pull  him  into 
a  better  place  for  seeing  the  rest  of  the  procession. 
For  from  the  place  where  they  stood  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  crowd,  the  foremost  wagon  with  its 
nodding  wheat  and  sheaves,  its  speaker,  its  old 
women,  and  its  bodyguard  of  girls  entirely  hid  the 
cart  behind  it. 

"  Dis  way,  pappa,  dis  way,"  said  the  child,  drag- 
ging him.  He  let  her  draw  him,  and  suddenly  from 
behind  the  speaker's  cart  there  emerged  the  second 
wagon  with  its  white  horses;  Rachel  Henderson, 
the  observed  of  all  beholders,  standing  flushed  and 
smiling,  with  the  reins  in  her  hands,  the  vicar  just 
behind  her,  and  Lady  Alicia's  lace  parasol. 

"  My  God!  "  said  the  man. 

His  sudden  start,  and  clutch  at  the  child's  hand 
made  the  child  cry  out.  He  checked  her  with  a 
savage  word,  and  while  she  whimpered  unheeded, 
he  stood  motionless,  sheltering  himself  behind  a  girl 
with  a  large  hat  who  stood  in  front  of  him,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  Great  End  wagon.  A  ghastly  white  had 
replaced  the  patchy  red  on  his  cheeks,  and  had  any 
careful  observer  chanced  to  notice  him  at  the 


HARVEST  107 

moment,  he  or  she  would  have  been  struck  by  the 
expression  of  his  face — as  of  some  evil,  startled 
beast  aware  of  its  enemy,  and  making  ready  to 
spring. 

But  the  expression  passed.  With  a  long  breath, 
Roger  Delane  pulled  himself  together. 

"  Hold  your  noise,  Nina,"  he  said  roughly  to  the 
child.  "  If  you'll  be  a  good  girl,  I'll  put  you  on  my 
shoulder." 

The  child  stopped  crying  at  once,  and  Delane, 
raising  her  on  to  his  shoulder,  pulling  his  own  soft 
hat  over  his  eyes  and  placing  the  child  so  that  her 
dress  concealed  his  own  features.  Then  he  resumed 
an  excited  scrutiny  of  the  Great  End  wagon.  At 
the  same  moment  he  saw  a  man  in  uniform  making 
his  way  through  the  crowd  towards  Miss  Henderson 
who  was  waving  to  him.  An  officer — an  American 
officer.  Delane  recognized  at  once  the  high  collar 
and  the  leathern  peak  to  the  cap. 

The  crowd  had  already  begun  to  cheer  him.  He 
reached  the  Great  End  wagon,  and  its  mistress,  all 
smiles,  bent  over  to  speak  to  him.  She  and  the 
vicar  seemed  to  be  giving  directions,  to  which  the 
American  with  a  laughing  shrug  assented,  going  off 
to  the  front  wagon,  evidently  in  obedience  to  orders. 
There  the  girl  speaker  had  just  sat  down  amid  a 
hearty  cheer  from  the  crowd;  and  the  chairman  of 


io8  HARVEST 

the  meeting,  a  burly  farmer,  eagerly  came  to  the 
side  of  the  wagon,  and  helped  the  American  officer 
into  the  cart.  Then  with  a  stentorian  voice  the 
chairman  announced  that  Captain  Ellesborough  from 
Ralstone  camp  had  come  "  to  tell  us  what  America 
is  doing! "  A  roar  from  the  crowd.  Ellesborough 
saluted  gaily,  and  then  his  hands  in  his  pockets  began 
to  talk  to  them.  His  speech,  which  was  a  racy  sum- 
mary of  all  that  America  was  doing  to  help  the 
Allies,  was  delivered  to  a  ringing  accompaniment  of 
cheers  from  the  thronged  market-place,  rising  to 
special  thunder  when  the  captain  dwelt  on  the  wheat 
and  bacon  that  America  was  pouring  across  the  At- 
lantic to  feed  a  hungry  Europe. 

14  We've  tightened  our  own  belts  already;  we  can 
tighten  them,  I  dare  say,  a  few  holes  more.  Every- 
body in  America's  growing  something,  and  making 
something.  When  a  man  thinks  he's  done  enough, 
and  wants  to  rest  a  bit,  the  man  next  him  gets  be- 
hind him  with  a  bradawl.  There's  no  rest  for  any- 
body. We've  just  registered  thirteen  million  men. 
That  sounds  like  business,  doesn't  it?  No  slacking 
there!  Well,  we  mean  business.  And  you  mean 
business.  And  the  women  mean  business." 

Then  a  passage  about  the  women,  which  set  the 
land  girls  grinning  at  each  other,  and  at  the  me;? 
in  the  crowd,  ending  in  three  cheers  for  Marshal 


HARVEST  109 

Foch  and  Sir  Douglas  Haig,  which  came  echoing 
back  from  the  Fourteenth  Century  church  and  the 
old  houses  which  ringed  the  market-place. 

All  eyes  were  on  the  speaker,  no  one  noticed  the 
tall  man  with  the  olive-skinned  child  on  his  shoulder. 
He  himself,  with  thumping  pulses,  never  ceased  to 
watch  the  figures  and  movements  in  the  second 
wagon.  He  saw  Miss  Henderson  sit  down  and  an- 
other woman  also  in  tunic  and  knickers  take  her 
place.  He  watched  her  applauding  the  speaker,  or 
talking  wifh  the  clergyman  behind  her,  or  the  lady 
with  the  lace  parasol.  And  when  the  speech  was 
over,  amid  a  hurricane  of  enthusiasm,  when  the 
resolution  had  been  put  and  carried,  and  the  bells 
in  the  old  church-tower  began  to  ring  out  a  deafen- 
ing joy-peal  above  the  dispersing  crowd,  he  saw  the 
American  officer  jump  down  from  the  speaker's 
wagon  and  return  to  Miss  Henderson.  Steps  were 
brought,  and  Captain  Ellesborough  handed  out  the 
ladies.  Then  he  and  Rachel  Henderson  went  away 
side  by  side,  laughing  and  talking,  towards  the 
porch  of  the  church,  where  Delane  lost  them  from 
sight. 

The  market-place  emptied  rapidly.  The  deco- 
rated wagons  moved  off  to  the  field  where  the  com- 
petitions had  been  held  in  the  morning,  and  some 
of  the  crowd  with  them.  Another  portion  streamed 


no  HARVEST 

into  the  church,  and  soon  only  a  few  scattered  groups 
were  left. 

The  tall  man  put  down  the  child,  and  was  seized 
with  a  fit  of  coughing,  which  left  him  more  pallid 
and  sunken-eyed  than  before.  When  it  was  over, 
he  noticed  a  group  of  elderly  labourers.  They  had 
come  late  into  the  meeting,  and  were  making  for  the 
bar  of  the  Cow-roast  Inn,  but  before  they  entered  it 
Delane  went  up  to  one  of  them. 

"  I'm  a  stranger  here,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  Can 
you  tell  me  who  all  these  people  were  in  the 
wagons?  " 

The  man  addressed — who  was  old  Halsey — gave 
the  speaker  a  reconnoitring  look. 

"Well,  I  dunno  neither,"  he  said  cautiously, 
"  leastways,  many  of  'em.  There  was  my  old  missus, 
in  the  first  one.  She  didn't  want  to  go,  dressed  up 
in  them  sunbonnets.  But  they  made  such  a  fuss  of 
her,  she  had  to.  There  was  Farmer  Broughton  I 
seed,  an'  I  don't  know  nobody  else." 

"  Well,  but  the  second  wagon?  "  said  Delane  im- 
patiently. 

"  Oh,  the  second  wagon.  Why;  that  was  Miss 
Henderson.  Don't  ye  know  'er?  I  works  for  'er?  " 

"Is  she  on  the  land?" 

The  old  man  laughed. 

"  That  she  be !    She's  a  farmer,  is  Miss  Hender- 


HARVEST  in 

son,  an'  she  frames  pretty  fair.  She  don't  know 
much  yet,  but  what  she  don't  know  Hastings  tells 
her." 

"Who's  Hastings?" 

"  Why,  her  bailiff,  to  be  sure.  You  do  be  a 
stranger,  not  knowin'  Muster  Hastings?" 

"  I'm  just  here  for  a  few  weeks.  It's  a  rum  busi- 
ness, isn't  it,  this  of  women  taking  farms?" 

Halsey  nodded  reflectively. 

"  Aye,  it's  a  queer  business.  But  they  do  be 
cleverer  at  it  than  ye'd  think.  Miss  Henderson's  a 
good  head-piece  of  her  own." 

"And  some  money,  I  suppose?" 

"  Well,  that's  not  my  look  out,  is  it,  so  long  as  I 
gits  my  wages  ?  I  dessay  Colonel  Shepherd,  ee  sees 
to  that.  Well,  good-day  to  you.  I'm  goin'  in  to  get 
summat  to  drink.  It's  a  dryin'  wind  to-day,  and  a 
good  bit  walk  from  Ipscombe." 

"  Is  that  where  you  live?  " 

"  Aye — an'  Miss  Henderson's  place  is  just  t'other 
side.  A  good  mile  to  Ipscombe,  and  near  a  mile 
beyont.  I  didn't  want  to  come,  but  my  old  woman 
she  nagged  me  to  come  an'  see  her  'ome." 

And  with  another  nod,  the  old  man  turned  into 
the  public,  where  his  mates  were  already  enjoying 
the  small  beer  of  the  moment. 

For  a  few  minutes,  Delane  strolled  down  the  main 


H2  HARVEST 

road  in  silence,  the  child  playing  at  his  heels.  Then 
he  turned  abruptly,  called  the  child,  and  went  up  the 
side  street  from  which  he  had  appeared  when  the 
meeting  began. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  he  returned  to  the 
market-place  alone.  The  service  in  the  church  was 
still  going  on.  He  could  hear  them  singing  the 
harvest  hymn :  "  We  plough  the  fields  and  scatter — 
The  good  seed  on  the  land."  But  he  did  not  stop 
to  listen.  He  walked  on  rapidly  in  the  direction  of 
Ipscombe. 

Delane  found  the  main  line  from  Millsborough 
to  Ipscombe  dotted  at  intervals  with  groups  of  per- 
sons returning  from  the  harvest  festival — elderly 
women  with  children,  a  few  old  labourers,  a  few 
soldiers  on  leave,  with  a  lively  fringe  of  noisy  boys 
and  girls  skirmishing  round  and  about  their  elders, 
like  so  many  young  animals  on  the  loose.  The  eve- 
ning light  was  failing.  The  pools  left  by  a  passing 
shower,  gleamed  along  the  road,  and  the  black 
elms  and  oaks,  scarcely  touched  as  yet  by  autumn 
gold,  stood  straight  and  sharp  against  a  rainy 
sky. 

The  tall,  slouching  man  scrutinized  the  various 
groups  as  he  passed  them,  as  though  making  up  his 
mind  whether  to  address  them  or  not.  He  wore  a 
shabby  greatcoat,  warmer  than  the  day  demanded, 


HARVEST  113 

and  closely  buttoned  across  the  chest.  The  rest  of 
his  dress,  felt  hat,  dark  trousers,  and  tan  boots,  had 
all  of  it  come  originally  from  expensive  shops,  but 
was  now  only  just  presentable.  The  one  thing  in 
good  condition  about  him  was  the  Malacca  cane  he 
carried,  which  had  a  carved  jade  handle,  and  was 
altogether  out  of  keeping  with  his  general 
appearance. 

All  the  same  there  was  something  striking  in  that 
appearance.  Face,  figure  and  dress  represented  the 
wreck  of  more  than  one  kind  of  distinction.  The 
face  must  once  have  been  exceptionally  handsome, 
before  an  underlying  commonness  and  coarseness 
had  been  brought  out  or  emphasized  by  develop- 
ments of  character  and  circumstance.  The  mouth 
was  now  loose  and  heavy.  The  hazel  eyes  had  lost 
their  youth,  and  were  disfigured  by  the  premature 
wrinkles  of  either  ill-health  or  dissipation.  None 
the  less,  a  certain  carriage  of  the  head  and  shoulders, 
a  certain  magnificence  in  the  whole  general  outline 
of  the  man,  especially  in  the  defiant  eyes  and  brow, 
marked  him  out  from  the  crowd,  and  drew  atten- 
tion of  strangers. 

Many  persons  looked  at  him,  as  he  at  them,  while 
he  swung  slowly  along  the  road.  At  last  he  crossed 
over  towards  an  elderly  man  in  company  with  a 
young  soldier,  who  was  walking  lamely  with  a  stick. 


ii4  HARVEST 

"  Excuse  me,"  he  said,  formally,  addressing  the 
elder  man,  "  but  am  I  right  for  Ipscombe?  " 

"  That  you  are,  muster.  The  next  turnin'  to  the 
right'll  bring  yer  to  it."  Peter  Betts  looked  the 
stranger  over  as  he  spoke,  with  an  inquisitive  eye. 

"  You've  come  from  the  meeting,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Ay.  We  didn't  go  to  the  service.  That  worn't 
in  our  line.  But  we  heerd  the  speeches  out  o'  doors." 

"  The    carts   were    fine ! — especially   the    second 


one." 


"  Ay — that's  our  missis.  She  and  the  two  girls 
done  the  dressin'  o'  the  cart." 

"What's  her  name?" 

;<  Well,  her  name's  Henderson,"  said  the  old  man, 
speaking  with  an  amiable,  half  careless  detachment, 
the  manner  rather  of  a  philosopher  than  a  gossip. 

"She's  the  farmer's  wife?" 

"  Noa,  she  ain't.  She's  the  farmer  herself — 'at's 
what  she  is.  She's  took  the  farm  from  Colonel  Shep- 
herd— she  did — all  on  her  own.  To  be  sure  there's 
Miss  Leighton  as  lives  with  her.  But  it  do  seem  to 
me  as  Miss  Henderson's — as  you  might  say — the 
top  'un.  And  me  an'  James  Halsey  works  for  her." 

"Miss  Henderson?     She's  not  married?" 

"  Not  she !  "  said  old  Betts  emphatically.  "  She's 
like  a  lot  o'  women  nowadays,  I  guess.  They  doan't 
want  to  be  married." 


HARVEST  115 

"  Perhaps  nobody  'as  wanted  to  marry  'em,  dad !  " 
said  his  elder  son,  grinning  at  his  own  stale  jest. 

Betts  shook  a  meditative  head. 

"  Noa — yo'll  not  explain  it  that  way,"  he  said 
mildly.  "Some  of  'em's  good-looking — Miss 
Henderson  'ersel',  by  token.  A  very  'andsome  up- 
standin'  young  woman  is  Miss  Henderson." 

Delane  followed  all  these  remarks  with  close  at- 
tention, and  continued  a  rather  skilful  examination. 
He  learnt  that  Great  End  was  a  farm  of  about  two 
hundred  and  fifty  acres,  that  Miss  Henderson  seemed 
to  have  "  lots  o'  money,"  and  had  sold  her  autumn 
crops  very  well,  that  Miss  Leighton  managed  the 
stock  and  the  dairy  with  the  help  of  two  land-girls, 
and  it  was  thought  by  the  village  that  the  two  ladies 
"  was  doin'  fine." 

Arrived  at  the  village,  Betts  turned  into  his  cot- 
tage, with  a  nod  to  his  companion,  and  Delane  went 
on  his  way. 

The  lane  on  the  farther  side  of  the  village  was 
dark  under  branching  trees.  Delane  stumbled  along 
it,  coughing  at  intervals,  and  gripped  by  the  rising 
chill  of  the  September  evening.  A  little  beyond  the 
trees  he  caught  sight  of  the  farm  against  the  hill. 
Yes,  it  was  lonesome,  as  the  old  man  said,  but  a  big, 
substantial-looking  place.  Rachel's  place !  And 
Rachel  had  "  lots  o'  money  "= — and  as  to  her  health 


n6  HARVEST 

and  well-being,  why  the  sight  of  her  on  that  cart  was 
enough.  That  vision  of  her  indeed — of  the  flushed, 
smiling  face  under  the  khaki  hat,  of  the  young  form 
in  the  trim  tunic  and  leggings,  and,  not  least,  of  the 
admiring  crowd  about  her,  kept  returning  upon  the 
man's  furious  sense  as  something  not  to  be  borne,  a 
recurrent  blow  from  which  he  could  not  escape. 

And  that  American  chap — that  Yankee  officer  who 
had  walked  off  with  her  to  the  church — what  was 
the  meaning  of  that?  They  were  not  strangers,  that 
was  plain.  She  had  beckoned  to  him  from  the  cart. 
The  manner  of  their  short  conversation,  indeed, 
showed  them  well  acquainted.  She  told  him  to  go 
and  speak — and  he  had  gone — with  alacrity — smil- 
ing back  at  her.  Courting,  no  doubt !  Rachel  could 
never  let  a  man  alone — or  live,  without  a  man  after 
her.  A  brutal  phrase  shaped  itself — a  vile  epithet 
or  two — flung  into  the  solitude  of  the  lane. 

When  he  emerged  from  the  trees  into  a  space  of 
greater  light  between  two  stubble  fields,  Delane  sud- 
denly drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  While  Rachel 
was  flaunting  with  "  lots  of  money  " — this  was  how 
his  affairs  were  going. 

"  DEAR  ROGER, — I  can  do  nothing  for  you.  Your 
demands  are  simply  insatiable.  If  you  write  me  any 
more  begging  letters,  or  if  you  attempt  again  to 
force  your  way  into  my  house  as  you  did  last  week, 


HARVEST  117 

I  shall  tell  the  bank  to  cancel  your  allowance,  and 
wash  my  hands  of  you  altogether.  My  husband's 
determined  to  stop  this  kind  of  thing.  Don't  imagine 
you  can  either  threaten  us,  or  come  round  us.  We 
have  tried  again  and  again  to  help  and  reform  you. 
It  is  no  good — and  now  we  give  you  up.  You  have 
worn  us  out.  If  you  are  wise,  you  will  not  answer 
this — and  if  you  keep  quiet  the  allowance  shall  be 
continued.  MARIANNE  TILNEY." 

That  was  a  nice  letter  to  get  from  a  man's  only 
sister!  Allowance!  What  was  £100  a  year  to  a 
woman  as  rich  as  Marianne  ?  And  what  was  the  use 
of  £100  a  year  to  him,  with  living  at  the  price  it  was 
now?  His  wretched  pittance  besides,  doled  out  to 
him  by  his  father's  trustees  under  his  father's  will, 
brought  his  whole  income  up  to  £300  a  year.  How 
was  a  man  to  live  on  that,  and  support  a  woman  and 
child? 

And  here  was  Rachel — free — bursting  with  health 
— and  possessed  of  "  lots  of  money."  She  thought, 
no  doubt,  that  she  had  done  with  him — thrust  him 
out  of  her  life  altogether.  He'd  let  her  see !  Whose 
fault  was  it  that  he  had  taken  up  with  Anita  ?  Nag- 
ging, impossible  creature! — with  her  fine  ladyisms 
and  her  tempers,  and  her  insolent  superior  ways ! 

He  walked  on,  consumed  with  a  bitterness  which 


n8  HARVEST 

held  him  like  a  physical  anguish.  By  now  he  had 
reached  the  farm  gate.  The  sunset  had  cleared  and 
deepened.  Great  rosy  thunder-clouds  topped  the 
down,  and  strong  lights  were  climbing  up  the  bronzed 
masses  of  wood  behind  the  house.  No  one  to  be 
seen.  At  Millsborough  they  could  hardly  be  out 
of  church  yet.  He  had  time  before  him.  He  walked 
cautiously  up  the  farm-lane,  diverging  to  the  left  as 
he  reached  the  buildings  so  as  to  escape  the  notice  of 
any  one  who  might  be  left  in  charge.  As  he  slipped 
under  the  large  cart-shed  which  backed  on  the  cow- 
house, he  heard  somebody  whistling  inside.  It  was 
old  Halsey,  who  had  done  the  afternoon  milking  in 
the  absence  of  the  girls.  Delane  could  hear  the 
movements  of  the  labourer,  and  the  munching  of  the 
cows.  A  little  farther  on  was  the  stable,  and  two 
horses'  heads,  looking  pensively  out  from  the  open 
half  of  the  door.  Delane  peered  into  the  stable  with 
the  eye  of  one  to  whom  all  farming  matters  were 

familiar.    Three  fine  horses — d d  fine  horses ! — 

must  have  cost  £100  a  piece  at  least.  No  doubt  the 
cows  were  equally  good  stuff.  And  he  had  noticed 
under  the  outer  cart-shed  a  brand-new  reaper  and 
binder,  and  other  farm  implements  and  machines  of 
the  best  quality.  Rachel  was  doing  the  thing  in 
style. 

But  where  was  the  farm-house  ?    Then  as  he  crept 


HARVEST  119 

round  the  third  side  of  the  rough  quadrangle,  he 
became  aware  of  a  large  window  with  white  curtains. 
Looking  through  it  with  his  face  against  the  glass, 
he  was  startled  to  find  that  he  was  looking  straight 
into  the  farm-yard  through  another  window  of  equal 
size  on  the  other  side  of  the  room.  And  at  the 
moment  Halsey  came  out  of  the  cow-shed  carrying 
a  pail  of  milk  in  either  hand.  Delane  drew  hastily 
back  into  the  shelter  of  an  old  holly  that  grew 
against  the  wall,  till  the  old  man  had  disappeared. 
Then  he  eagerly  examined  the  room,  which  was  still 
suffused  by  the  sunset.  Its  prettiness  and  comfort 
were  so  many  fresh  exasperations.  He  contrasted 
it  inwardly  with  the  wretched  lodging  from  which 
he  had  just  come.  Why,  he  knew  the  photographs 
on  the  walls — her  father,  the  old  parson,  and  her 
puritanical  mother,  whom  Rachel  had  always  thrown 
in  his  teeth.  Her  eldest  brother,  too,  who  had  been 
drowned  at  sea.  And  that  engraving — that  senti- 
mental thing  by  Watts,  "  Love  and  Death,"  that 
Rachel  had  bought  once  on  a  visit  to  Toronto,  and 
he  had  scolded  her  for  buying.  There  it  was,  as 
large  as  life.  How  did  it  come  there  ?  Was  it  her 
property  or  his?  He  believed  he  could  claim  it,  if 
he  chose.  Gad! — what  would  she  say  if  she  knew 
where  he  was  at  that  moment,  and  what  he  was 
doing  1 


ri20  HARVEST 

For  eighteen  months  she  had  hidden  herself  so 
cleverly  that  he  had  entirely  lost  sight  of  her.  When 
her  lawyers  communicated  with  him  in  the  spring 
they  had  been  careful  to  give  no  address.  On  the 
whole  he  had  believed  her  to  be  still  in  Canada. 
She,  on  the  other  hand,  unless  she  were  a  greater 
fool  than  he  thought  her,  must  have  guessed  that  he 
would  get  back  to  England  somehow.  Why,  the 
farm  had  ended  in  bankruptcy,  and  what  else  was 
there  to  do  but  to  come^  home  and  dun  his  relations ! 
iYet  she  had  not  been  afraid  to  come  home  herself, 
and  set  up  in  this  conspicuous  way.  She  supposed, 
of  course,  that  she  had  done  with  him  for  good — 
kicked  him  off  like  an  old  shoe!  The  rage  in  his 
blood  set  his  heart  beating  to  suffocation.  Then  his 
cough  seized  him  again.  He  stifled  it  as  best  he 
could,  flattened  against  the  wall,  in  the  shadow  of  a 
yew-tree. 

The  sound,  however,  was  apparently  heard,  for 
there  were  rapid  steps  across  the  farm-yard,  and  a 
gate  opened.  "Hallo — who's  there?"  The  voice 
was,  no  doubt,  that  of  the  labourer  he  had  seen.  De- 
lane  slipped  noiselessly  along  the  wall,  and  to  the 
back  of  the  stables,  till  all  was  quiet  again  within  the 
farm. 

But  outside  in  the  road  there  were  persons  ap- 
proaching. He  mounted  the  hill  a  little  way  into 


HARVEST  121 

the  shelter  of  the  trees  which  covered  the  steep  face 
of  the  down,  and  ran  up  into  the  great  woods  along 
the  crest.  Through  the  gathering  dusk  he  saw  the 
large  farm-cart  clattering  up  the  lane  with  several 
figures  in  it.  The  cart  carried  lamps,  which  sent 
shafts  of  light  over  the  stubbles.  There  was  a  sound 
of  talk  and  laughter,  and  alongside  the  cart  he  saw 
a  man  leading  a  motor-bicycle,  and  apparently  talk- 
ing to  the  women  in  the  cart.  A  man  in  uniform. 
The  American,  no  doubt ! 

The  cart  drew  up  at  the  farm-yard  gates,  and  the 
old  labourer  came  to  open  them.  Everybody  dis- 
mounted, except  one  of  the  girls,  who,  standing  in 
the  wagon,  drove  the  horses.  Then,  for  a  time, 
Delane  could  see  nothing  more.  The  farm  quad- 
rangle had  absorbed  the  party.  Occasionally  a  light 
flashed,  or  a  voice  could  be  heard  calling,  or  laughter 
came  floating  up  the  hill  through  an  open  door  or 
window.  But  in  a  little  while  all  was  silence. 

Delane  sat  down  on  a  fallen  trunk,  and  watched. 
All  kinds  of  images  were  rushing  through  his  brain 
: — wide  wheat  fields  with  a  blazing  sun  on  the  stocks 
; — a  small  frame  house  set  nakedly  on  the  flat  prairie 
with  a  bit  of  untidy  garden  round  it — its  living  room 
in  winter,  with  a  huge  fire,  and  a  woman  moving 
about — the  creek  behind  it,  and  himself  taking 
horses  down  to  water.  They  were  images  of  some- 


122  HARVEST 

thing  that  had  once  meant  happiness  and  hope — a 
temporary  break  or  interlude  in  a  dismal  tale  which 
had  closed  upon  it  before  and  after. 

Darkness  came  down.  The  man  on  the  hill  said 
to  himself,  "  Now  they  are  having  supper,"  and  he 
crept  down  again  to  the  farm,  and  crouching  and 
wriggling  along  he  made  his  way  again  to  the  big 
window,  over  which  the  curtains  had  been  drawn. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  sitting-room,  however,  to 
judge  from  the  silence,  but  from  the  kitchen  across 
the  passage  came  a  rush  of  voices,  together  with  a 
clatter  of  plates.  The  kitchen  looked  out  on  the 
front  of  the  farm,  and  a  wooden  shutter  had  been 
fastened  across  the  window.  But  the  wood  of  the 
shutter  was  old  and  full  of  chinks,  and  Delane,  press- 
ing his  face  to  the  window,  was  able  to  get  just  a 
glimpse  of  the  scene  within — Rachel  at  the  head 
of  the  table,  the  man  in  uniform  beside  her — three 
other  women.  A  paraffin  lamp  threw  the  shadow  of 
the  persons  at  the  table  sharply  on  the  white  dis- 
tempered wall.  There  were  flowers  on  the  table, 
and  the  meal  wore  a  home-like  and  tempting  air  to 
the  crouching  spy  outside.  Rachel  smiled  incessantly, 
and  it  seemed  to  Delane  .hat  the  handsome  man 
beside  her  could  not  take  his  eyes  from  her.  Nor 
could  Delane.  Her  brown  head  and  white  throat, 
her  soft,  rose-tinted  face  emerging  from  the  black 


HARVEST  123 

dress,  were  youth  itself — a  vision  of  youth  and  lusty- 
hood  brilliantly  painted  on  the  white  wall. 

Delane  looked  his  fill.  Then  he  dropped  down 
the  bank  on  which  the  farm  stood,  and  avoiding  the 
open  track  through  the  fields,  he  skirted  a  hedge 
which  led  down  to  the  road,  and  was  lost  in  the 
shadows  of  advancing  night. 


VI 


R^IN ! — how  it  pelted  the  September  fields  day 
after  day  and  week  after  week,  as  though  to 
remind  a  world  still  steeped  in,  still  drunk 
with  the  most  wonderful  of  harvests,  that  the  gods 
had  not  yet  forgotten  their  old  jealousy  of  men,  and 
men's  prosperity.  Whenever  a  fine  day  came  the 
early  ploughing  and  seeding  was  in  full  swing,  and 
Rachel  on  one  side  of  the  largest  field  could  watchv 
the  drill  at  work,  and  on  the  other  the  harrow  which 
covered  in  the  seed.  In  the  next  field,  perhaps,  she 
would  find  Betty  and  Jenny  lifting  potatoes,  and 
would  go  to  help  with  them,  digging  and  sorting,  till 
every  limb  ached  and  she  seemed  to  be  a  part  herself 
of  the  damp  brown  earth  that  she  was  robbing  of  its 
treasure.  For  a  time  when  the  harvest  was  done, 
when  the  ricks  were  thatched  ready  for  threshing, 
there  had  been  a  moment  of  ease.  But  with  the  com- 
ing of  October,  the  pressure  began  again.  The 
thought  of  the  coming  frost  and  of  all  those  greedy 
mouths  of  cattle,  sheep,  and  horses  to  be  filled 
through  the  winter,  drove  and  hunted  the  workers 
on  Great  End  Farm,  as  they  have  driven  and  hunted 

124 


HARVEST  125 

the  children  of  earth  since  tilling  and  stock-keeping 
began.  Under  the  hedges  near  the  house,  the  long 
potato  caves  had  been  filled  and  covered  in;  the 
sheep  were  in  the  turnips,  and  every  two  or  three 
days,  often  under  torrents  of  rain,  Rachel  and  the 
two  girls  must  change  the  hurdles,  and  put  the 
hungry,  pushing  creatures  on  to  fresh  ground.  On 
the  top  of  the  down,  there  was  fern  to  be  cut  and 
carted  for  the  winter  fodder,  and  fallen  wood  to  be 
gathered  for  fuel,  under  the  daily  threats  of  the 
coal-controller. 

Rachel  worked  hard  and  long.  How  she  loved 
the  life  that  once  under  other  skies  and  other  con- 
ditions she  had  loathed!  Ownership  and  command 
had  given  her  a  new  dignity,  in  a  sense  a  new  beauty. 
Her  labourers  and  her  land  girls  admired  and 
obeyed  her,  while — perhaps ! — Janet  Leighton  had 
their  hearts.  Rachel's  real  self  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing that  no  one  knew;  her  companions  were  never 
quite  at  ease  with  her;  and  yet  her  gay,  careless 
ways,  the  humanity  and  natural  fairness  of  her  mind, 
carried  a  spell  that  made  her  rule  sit  light  upon 
them. 

Yes! — after  all  these  weeks  together,  not  even 
Janet  knew  her  much  better.  The  sense  of  mystery 
remained;  although  the  progress  of  the  relation  be- 
tween her  and  Ellesborough  was  becoming  very  evi- 


126  HARVEST 

dent,  not  only  indeed  to  Janet,  but  to  everybody 
at  the  farm.  His  departure  for  France  had  been  de- 
layed owing  to  the  death  in  action  of  the  officer  who 
was  to  have  been  sent  home  to  replace  him.  It 
might  be  a  month  now  before  he  left.  Meanwhile, 
every  Sunday  he  spent  some  hours  at  the  farm,  and 
generally  on  a  couple  of  evenings  in  the  week  he 
would  arrive  just  after  supper,  help  to  put  the  ani- 
mals to  bed,  and  then  stay  talking  with  Rachel  in 
the  sitting-room,  while  Janet  tidied  up  in  the  kitchen. 
Janet,  the  warm-hearted,  had  become  much  at- 
tached to  him.  He  had  been  at  no  pains  to  hide  the 
state  of  his  feelings  from  her.  Indeed,  though  he 
had  said  nothing  explicit,  his  whole  attitude  to 
Rachel's  friend  and  partner  was  now  one  of  tacit 
appeal  for  sympathy.  And  she  was  more  than  ready 
to  give  it.  Her  uprightness,  and  the  touch  of  auster- 
ity in  her,  reached  out  to  similar  qualities  in  him; 
and  the  intellectual  dissent  which  she  derived  from 
her  East  Anglican  forbears,  from  the  circles  which 
in  eighteenth-century  Norwich  gathered  round  Mrs. 
Opie,  the  Martineaus,  and  the  Aldersons,  took  kindly 
to  the  same  forces  in  him;  forces  descended  from 
that  New  England  Puritanism  which  produced  half 
the  great  men — and  women — of  an  earlier  America. 
Rachel  laughed  at  them  for  *  talking  theology,'  not 
suspecting  that  as  the  weeks  went  on  they  talked — 


HARVEST  127 

whenever  they  got  a  chance — less  and  less  of  theol- 
ogy, and  more  and  more  of  herself,  through  the 
many  ingenious  approaches  that  a  lover  invents  and 
the  amused  and  sympathetic  friend  abets. 

For  clearly  Ellesborough  was  in  love.  Janet  read 
the  signs  of  it  in  the  ease  with  which  he  had  accepted 
the  postponement  of  his  release  from  the  camp,  eager 
as  he  was  to  get  to  the  fighting  line.  She  heard  it 
in  his  voice,  saw  it  in  his  eyes;  and  she  was  well 
aware  that  Rachel  saw  it.  What  Rachel  thought  and 
felt  was  more  obscure.  She  watched  for  Ellesbor- 
ough; she  put  on  her  best  frocks  for  him;  she  was 
delighted  to  laugh  and  talk  with  him.  But  she 
watched  for  Mr.  Shenstone,  too,  and  would  say 
something  caustic  or  impatient  if  he  were  two  or 
three  days  without  calling.  'And  when  he  called, 
Rachel  very  seldom  snubbed  him,  as  at  first.  She 
was  all  smiles;  the  best  frocks  came  out  for  him,  too; 
and  Janet,  seeing  the  growing  beatitude  of  the  poor 
vicar,  and  the  growing  nervousness  of  his  sister, 
was  often  inclined  to  be  really  angry  with  Rachel. 
But  they  were  not  yet  on  such  terms  as  would  allow 
her  to  remonstrate  with  what  seemed  to  her  a  rather 
unkind  bit  of  flirtation;  seeing  that  she  did  not  be- 
lieve that  Rachel  had,  or  ever  would  have,  a  serious 
thought  to  give  the  shallow,  kindly  little  man. 

But  though  she  held  her  tongue,  Janet  showed  her 


;i28  HARVEST 

feeling  sometimes  by  a  tone,  or  a  lifted  eyebrow,  and 
then  Rachel  would  look  at  her  askance,  turning  the 
vicar's  head  none  the  less  on  the  next  occasion.  Was 
it  that  she  was  deceiving  herself,  as  well  as  trying, 
very  unsuccessfully,  to  deceive  the  lookers-on?  The 
progress  of  the  affair  with  Ellesborough  made  on 
Janet  a  curious  and  rather  sinister  impression,  which 
she  could  hardly  explain  to  herself.  She  seemed  to 
see  that  Ellesborough's  suit  steadily  advanced;  that 
Rachel  made  no  real  attempt  to  resist  his  power 
over  her.  But  all  the  same  there  was  no  happy, 
spontaneous  growth  in  it.  Rachel  seemed  to  take 
her  increasing  subjection  hardly,  to  be  fighting  ob- 
scurely against  it  all  the  time,  as  though  she  were 
hampered  by  thought  and  motives  unknown  to  the 
other  two.  Ellesborough,  Janet  thought,  was  often 
puzzled  by  the  cynical  or  bitter  talk  with  which 
Rachel  would  sometimes  deliberately  provoke  him. 
And  yet  it  was  clear  that  he  possessed  the  self- 
confidence  of  a  strong  man,  and  did  not  really  doubt 
his  ultimate  power  to  win  and  hold  the  woman  he 
was  courting. 

One  bitterly  cold  evening  at  the  very  end  of  Sep- 
tember,  Ellesborough,   arriving  at  the   farm,   was 
welcomed  by  Janet,  and  told  that  all  hands  were  in- 
the  fields  "  clamping  "  potatoes.     She  herself  left  a 
vegetable  stew  ready  for  supper,  safely  simmering 


HARVEST  129 

in  a  hay-box,  and  walked  towards  the  potato  field 
with  Ellesborough.  On  the  way  they  fell  in  with 
Hastings,  the  bailiff,  who  was  walking  fast,  and 
seemed  to  be  in  some  excitement. 

"  Miss  Leighton — that  old  fool  Halsey  has  given 
notice !  " 

Janet  stopped  in  dismay.  Halsey  was  a  valuable 
man,  an  old-fashioned  labourer  of  many  aptitudes, 
equally  good  as  a  woodman,  as  an  expert  in  "  fag- 
ging "  or  sickling  beaten-down  corn,  as  a  thatcher 
of  roofs  or  ricks,  as  a  setter  of  traps  for  moles,  or 
snares  for  rabbits.  Halsey  was  the  key-stone  of  the 
farm  labour.  Betts  was  well  enough.  But  without 
Halsey' s  intelligence  to  keep  him  straight — Janet 
groaned. 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter,  Hastings?  We 
raised  his  wages  last  week — and  we  did  it  before 
the  county  award  was  out !  " 

Hastings  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  not  wages.     He  says  he's  seen  the  ghost!  " 

Janet  exclaimed,  and  Ellesborough  laughed. 

"  What,  the  defunct  gamekeeper?  " 

Hastings  nodded. 

"  Vows  he's  seen  him  twice — once  on  the  hill — 
on  the  green  path — and  once  disappearing  round 
the  corner  of  the  farm.  He  declares  that  he  called 
to  the  man — who  was  like  nobody  he  had  ever  seen 


130  HARVEST 

before — and  the  man  took  no  notice,  but  went  along, 
all  hunched  up — as  they  say  the  ghost  is — and  talk- 
ing to  himself — till  all  of  a  sudden  he  vanished. 
I've  argued  with  him.  But  nothing'll  hold  him — 
old  idiot!  He  vows  he'll  go — -and  if  he  talks  to 
the  others  they'll  all  go." 

"Has  he  gone  home?"  asked  Janet. 

"  Long  ago.  He  left  the  horses  to  Jenny,  and 
just  marched  off.  In  the  lane  he  met  me,  and  gave 
notice.  Such  a  cock-and-bull  story  as  you  never 
heard!  But  I  couldn't  do  anything  with  him." 

"  I'll  go  and  tackle  him,"  said  Janet  at  once. 
"  We  can't  lose  him.  The  work  will  go  to 
smash." 

She  waved  a  farewell  to  Ellesborough,  and  ran 
back  to  the  house.  The  others,  watching,  saw  her 
emerge  on  her  bicycle  and  disappear  towards  the 
village. 

"  Well,  if  anybody  can  move  the  old  fellow,  I  sup- 
pose it's  Miss  Leighton,"  said  Hastings  discon- 
solately. "  She's  always  managed  to  get  the  right 
side  of  him  so  far.  But  I'm  nearly  beat,  captain ! 
Things  are  getting  too  hard  for  me.  You  can't  say 
a  word  to  these  men — they're  off  in  a  moment.  And 
the  wages! — it's  sinful!" 

'  We're  supposed  only  to  be  fighting  a  war, 
Hastings,"  said  Ellesborough  with  a  smile  as  they 


HARVEST  131 

walked  on  together.  "  But  all  the  time  there's  revo- 
lution going  on  beside  it — all  over  the  world !  " 

Hastings  made  a  face. 

"  Right  you  are,  captain.  And  how's  it  going  to 
work  out?  " 

"Don't  ask  me!"  laughed  Ellesborough — 
"  we've  all  got  to  sit  tight  and  hope  for  the  best. 
All  I  know  is  that  the  people  who  work  with  their 
hands  are  going  to  get  a  bit  of  their  own  back  from 
the  people  who  work  with  their  heads — or  their 
cheque-books.  And  I'm  glad  of  it!  But  ghosts  are 
a  silly  nuisance.  However,  I  dare  say  Miss  Leigh- 
ton  will  get  round  the  old  man." 

Hastings  looked  doubtful. 

"  I  don't  know.  All  the  talk  about  the  murder 
has  come  up  again.  They  say  there's  a  grandson 
come  home  of  the  man  that  was  suspected  sixty 
years  ago — John  Dempsey.  And  some  people  tell 
me  that  this  lad  had  the  whole  story  of  the  murder 
from  his  grandfather — who  confessed  it — only  last 
year,  when  the  man  died." 

'  Well,  if  he's  dead  all  right,  and  has  owned  up 
to  it,  why  on  earth  does  the  ghost  make  a  fuss?  " 

Hastings  shook  his  head. 

"  People  get  talking,"  he  said  gloomily.  "  And 
when  they  get  talking,  they'll  believe  anything- — and 
see  anything.  It'll  be  the  girls  next." 


132  HARVEST 

Ellesborough  tried  to  cheer  him,  but  without 
much  success.  The  "poor  spirit"  of  the  bailiff  was 
a  perpetual  astonishment  to  the  American,  in  the 
prime  of  his  own  life  and  vigour.  Existence  for 
Hastings  was  always  either  drab  or  a  black  busi- 
ness. If  the  weather  was  warm,  "  a  bit  of  cold 
would  ha'  been  better  " :  if  a  man  recovered  from 
an  illness,  he'd  still  got  the  "  bother  o'  dyin'  before 
him."  He  was  certain  we  should  lose  the  war,  and 
the  rush  of  the  September  victories  did  not  affect 
him.  And  if  we  didn't  lose  it,  no  matter — prices 
and  wages  would  still  be  enough  to  ruin  us.  Rachel 
grew  impatient  under  the  constant  drench  of  pes- 
simism. Janet  remembered  that  the  man  was  a 
delicate  man,  nearing  the  sixties,  with,  as  she  sus- 
pected, but  small  provision  laid  up  for  old  age; 
with  an  ailing  wife;  and  bearing  the  marks  in  body 
and  spirit  of  years  of  overwork.  She  never  missed 
an  opportunity  of  doing  him  a  kindness;  and  the 
consequence  was  that  Hastings,  always  faithful, 
even  to  his  worst  employers,  was  passionately  faith- 
ful to  his  new  mistresses,  defending  them  and  fight- 
ing for  their  interests,  as  they  were  sometimes 
hardly  inclined  to  fight  for  themselves. 

After  showing  Ellesborough  the  way  to  the 
"  clamps,"  Hastings  left  him.  In  succession  to  the 
long  days  of  rain  there  had  been  a  sudden  clearing 


HARVEST  [133 

in  the  skies.  The  day  had  been  fine,  and  now, 
towards  sunset,  there  was  a  grand  massing  of  rosy 
cloud  along  the  edge  of  the  down,  and  windy  lights 
over  the  valley.  Rachel,  busy  with  the  covering  of 
the  potato  "  clamps,"  laid  down  the  bundle  of 
bracken  she  had  been  handing  to  Peter  Betts,  and 
came  quickly  to  meet  her  visitor.  Her  working 
dress  was  splashed  with  mire  from  neck  to  foot, 
and  coils  of  brown  hair  had  escaped  from  her  water- 
proof cap,  and  hung  about  her  brilliant  cheeks.  She 
looked  happy,  but  tired. 

"  Such  a  day !  "  she  said,  panting,  as  they  met. 
"  The  girls  and  I  began  at  six  this  morning — lifting 
and  sorting.  It  was  so  important  to  get  them  in. 
Now  they're  safe  if  the  frost  does  come.  It's  a 
jolly  crop !  " 

Ellesborough  looked  at  her,  and  her  eyes  wavered 
before  the  ardour  in  his. 

"I  say!  You  work  too  hard!  Haven't  you 
done  enough?  Come  and  rest." 

She  nodded."""  I'll  come!" 

She  ran  to  say  a  word  to  the  others  and  rejoined 
him. 

They  went  back  to  the  farm,  not  talking  much, 
but  conscious  through  every  nerve  of  the  other's 
nearness.  Rachel  ran  upstairs  to  change  her  dress, 
and  Ellesborough  put  the  fire  together,  and  shut  the 


i34  HARVEST 

windows.  For  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  hill, 
and  a  bitter  wind  was  rising.  When  Rachel  came 
down  again,  the  wood-fire  glowed  and  crackled,  the 
curtains  drawn,  and  she  stared  in  astonishment  at  a 
small  tea-tray  beside  the  fire. 

Ellesborough  hurriedly  apologized. 

"  I  found  some  boiling  water  in  the  kettle,  and  I 
know  by  now  where  Miss  Janet  keeps  her  tea." 

"  Janet  brought  us  tea  to  the  field." 

"  I  dare  say  she  did.  That  was  four — this  is  six. 
You  felt  cold  just  now.  You  looked  cold.  Be  good, 
and  take  it  easy !  "  He  pointed  to  the  only  com- 
fortable chair,  which  he  had  drawn  up  to  the 
fire. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  boiled?  "  she  said  sceptically,  as 
she  sank  into  her  chair,  her  eyes  dancing.  "  No 
man  knows  when  a  kettle  boils." 

"Try  it!  For  five  winters  on  the  Saguenay,  I 
made  my  own  tea — and  baked  my  own  bread.  Men 
are  better  cooks  than  women  when  they  give  their 
minds  to  it!"  He  brought  her  the  cup,  hot  and 
fragrant,  and  she  sipped  it  in  pure  content  while  he 
stood  smiling  above  her,  leaning  against  the  mantel- 
piece. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you,"  he  said  presently.  "  I've 
just  got  my  marching  orders.  Let's  see.  This  is 
October.  I  shall  have  just  a  month.  They've  found 


HARVEST  135 

another  man  to  take  over  this  job,  but  he  can't  come 
till  .November." 

"And — peace?"  said  Rachel,  looking  up. 

For  Prince  Max  of  Baden  had  just  made  his 
famous  peace  offer  of  October  5th,  and  even  in 
rural  Brookshire  there  was  a  thrilling  sense  of 
opening  skies,  of  some  loosening  of  those  iron  bonds 
in  which  the  world  had  lain  for  four  years. 

"  There  will  be  no  peace !  "  said  Ellesborough 
with  sudden  energy,  "  so  long  as  there  is  a  single 
German  soldier  left  in  Belgium  or  France !  " 

She  saw  him  stiffen  from  head  to  foot — and 
thrilled  to  the  fir  me  of  avenging  will  that  suddenly 
possessed  him.  The  male  looked  out  upon  her, 
kindling — by  the  old,  old  law — the  woman  in  her. 

"  And  if  they  don't  accept  that?  " 

'  Then  the  war  will  go  on,"  he  said  briefly,  "  and 
I  shall  be  in  for  the  last  lap !  " 

His  colour  changed  a  little.  She  put  down  her 
cup  and  bent  over  the  fire,  warming  her  hands. 

"  If  it  does  go  on,  it  will  be  fiercer  than  ever." 

:'  Very  likely.  If  our  fellows  set  the  pace  there'll 
be  no  dawdling.  America's  white  hot." 

"  And  you'll  be  in  it?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  said  quietly. 

There  was  a  pause.  Then  he,  looking  down 
upon  her,  felt  a  sudden  and  passionate  joy  invade 


136  HARVEST 

him — joy  which  was  also  longing — longing  irre- 
sistible. His  mind  had  been  wrestling  with  many 
scruples  and  difficulties  during  the  preceding  days. 
Ought  h£  to  speak — on  the  eve  of  departure — or 
not?  Would  she  accept  him?  Or  was  all  her  man- 
ner and  attitude  towards  him  merely  the  result  of 
the  new  freedom  of  women?  Gradually  but  surely 
his  mounting  passion  had  idealized  her.  Not  only 
her  personal  ways  and  looks  had  become  delightful 
to  him,  but  the  honourable,  independent  self  in  him 
had  come  to  feel  a  deep  admiration  for  and  sym- 
pathy with  her  honourable  independence,  for  these 
new  powers  in  women  that  made  them  so  strong  in 
spite  of  their  weakness.  She  had  become  to  him 
not  only  a  woman  but  a  heroine.  His  whole  heart 
approved  and  admired  her  when  he  saw  her  so 
active,  so  competent,  so  human.  And  none  the  less 
the  man's  natural  instinct  hungered  to  take  her  in 
his  arms,  to  work  for  her,  to  put  her  back  in  the 
shelter  of  love  and  home — with  her  children  at  her 
knee.  .  .  . 

And  how  domestic  was  this  little  scene  in  which 
they  stood — the  firelight,  the  curtained  room,  the 
tea-things,  her  soft,  bending  form,  with  the  signs  of 
labour  put  away!  .  .  . 

The  tears  rushed  to  his  eyes.  He  bent  over  her, 
and  spoke  her  name,  almost  unconsciously. 


HARVEST  137 

"Rachel!" 

His  soul  was  in  the  name ! 

She  started,  and  looked  up.  While  he  had  been 
thinking  only  of  her,  her  thoughts  had  gone  wan- 
dering— far  away.  And  they  seemed  to  have 
brought  back — not  the  happy  yielding  of  a  woman 
to  her  lover — but  distress  and  fear.  A  shock  ran 
through  him. 

"  Rachel ! "  He  held  out  his  hands  to  her. 

He  could  not  find  words,  but  his  eyes  spoke,  and 
the  agitation  in  every  feature. 

But  she  drew  back. 

"Don't — don't  say  anything — till " 

His  look  held  her — the  surprise  in  it — the  tender 
appeal.  She  could  not  take  hers  from  it.  But  the 
disturbance  in  him  deepened.  For  in  the  face  she 
raised  to  him  there  was  no  flood  of  maidenly  joy. 
Suddenly — her  eyes  were  those  of  a  culprit 
examining  her  judge.  A  cry  sprang  to  his 
lips. 

;'Wait! — wait!"  she  said  piteously. 

She  fell  back  in  her  chair,  covering  her  face,  her 
breast  heaving.  He  saw  that  she  was  trying  to  com- 
mand herself,  to  steady  her  voice.  One  of  those 
forebodings  which  are  the  children  of  our  half- 
conscious  observation  shot  through  him.  But  he 
would  not  admit  it. 


138  HARVEST 

He  stooped  over  her  and  tried  again  to  take  her 
hand.  But  she  drew  it  away,  and  sat  up  in  her 
chair.  She  was  very  white,  and  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you,"  she  said, 
with  evident  difficulty,  "  which — I'm  afraid — will 
surprise  you  very  much.  Of  course  I  ought  to  have 
told  you — long  ago.  But  I'm  a  coward,  and — and 
— it  was  all  so  horrible.  I  am  not  what  you  sup- 
pose me.  I'm — a  married  woman — at  least  I  was. 
I  divorced  my  husband — eighteen  months  ago.  I'm 
quite  free  now.  I  thought  if  you  really  cared  about 
me — I  should  of  course  have  to  tell  you  some  time 
— but  I've  been  letting  it  go  on.  It  was  very  wrong 
of  me — I  know  it  was  very  wrong!  " 

And  bowing  her  face  on  her  knees,  she  burst  into 
a  passion  of  weeping,  the  weeping  of  a  child  who 
was  yet  a  woman.  The  mingled  immaturity  and 
intensity  of  her  nature  found  its  expression  in  the 
very  abandonment  of  her  tears. 

Ellesborough,  too,  had  turned  pale.  He  was 
astounded  by  what  she  said.  His  thoughts  rushed 
back  over  the  six  weeks  of  their  friendship — recall- 
ing his  first  impressions  of  something  mysterious 
and  unexplained. 

But  of  late,  he  had  entirely  forgotten  them. 
She  had  talked  so  frankly  and  simply  of  her  father 


HARVEST  139 

and  mother — of  her  father's  missionary  work  in 
Canada,  and  her  early  journeys  with  him;  and  of 
her  brother  in  Ontario,  his  children  and  his  letters. 
Once  she  had  handed  him  a  letter  from  this  brother 
to  read,  and  he  had  been  struck  by  the  refined  and 
affectionate  tone  of  it.  Here  were  the  same  family 
relations  as  his  own.  His  heart,  his  taste  were 
satisfied.  If  Rachel  Henderson  accepted  him  he 
would  be  bringing  his  mother  a  daughter  she  would 
find  it  easy  to  love. 

And  all  the  time — instead  of  an  unmarried  girl, 
with  the  experiences  of  love  and  marriage  before 
her — she  had  been  already  married — and  divorced ! 
Another  man  had  loved  and  possessed  her — and 
even  if  she  were  innocent — but  of  course  she  was 
innocent ! — there  must  be  some  ugly  story  involved. 

He  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts — but  all  his  con- 
sciousness seemed  to  be  bruised  and  in  pain.  He 
could  only  put  his  hand  on  her  hair,  and  say  inco- 
herent things, — 

"  Don't  cry  so,  dear — don't  cry !  " 

And  even  as  he  spoke  he  felt  with  bewilderment 
how — in  a  moment — their  respective  attitudes  had 
changed.  She  checked  her  sobs. 

"  Sit  there !  "  she  said,  pointing  peremptorily  to 
a  seat  opposite.  Then  she  looked  round  her. 

"Where  is  Janet?" 


i4o  HARVEST: 

"  She  went  to  the  village." 

Rachel  dried  her  eyes,  and  with  trembling  hands 
smoothed  her  hair  back  from  her  face. 

"  I'll  try  and  tell  it  shortly.     It's  a  horrible  tale." 

"  Do  you  feel  able  to  tell  it?  " 

For  he  was  aghast  at  her  pallor — the  alteration 
in  her  whole  aspect. 

"  I  must,"  she  wailed.  "  Weren't  you — weren't 
you  just  going  to  ask  me  to  marry  you?  " 

Strange  question ! — strange  frowning  eyes ! 

"  I  was,"  he  said  gravely.  "  Didn't  you  know  I 
should?" 

"  No,  no,  I  didn't  know !  "  she  said  piteously. 
"  I  was  never  sure — till  you  looked  at  me  then.  I 
wouldn't  be  sure !  " 

He  said  nothing.  Speech  was  ice-bound  till  he 
had  heard  what  she  had  to  say. 

"  It  all  began  to  happen  three  years  ago,"  she 
said  hurriedly,  hiding  her  face  from  him  with  her 
hand  while  she  hung  over  the  fire.  "  I  was  living 
with  my  brother,  who  was  then  near  Winnipeg.  He 
offered  me  a  home  after  my  father  died.  But  he 
was  married,  and  I  didn't  get  on  with  his  wife.  I 
dare  say  it  was  my  fault,  but  I  wasn't  happy,  and 
I  wanted  to  get  away.  Then  a  man — an  English- 
man— bought  the  next  section  to  us,  and  we  began 
to  know  him.  He  was  a  gentleman — he'd  been  to 


HARVEST  141 

Cambridge — his  father  had  some  land  and  a  house 
in  Lincolnshire.  But  he  was  the  third  son,  and 
he'd  been  taught  land  agency,  he  said,  as  a  training 
for  the  colonies.  That  was  all  we  knew.  He  was 
very  good-looking,  and  he  began  courting  me.  I 
suppose  I  was  proud  of  his  being  a  University  man 
— a  public  school  boy,  and  all  that.  He  told  me  a 
lot  of  stories  about  his  people,  and  his  money — 
most  of  which  were  lies.  But  I  was  a  fool — and  I 
believed  them.  My  brother  tried  to  stop  it.  Well, 
you  know  from  his  letters  what  sort  of  man  he  is," 
and  again  she  brushed  the  sudden  tears  away. 
"  But  his  wife  made  mischief,  and  I  was  set  on 
having  a  place  of  my  own.  So  I  stuck  to  it — and 
married  him." 

She  rose  abruptly  from  her  seat  and  began  to 
move  restlessly  about  the  room,  taking  up  a  book 
or  her  knitting  from  the  table,  and  putting  them 
down  again,  evidently  unconscious  of  what  she  was 
doing.  Ellesborough  waited.  His  lean,  sharply- 
cut  face  revealed  a  miserable,  perhaps  an  agonized 
suspense.  This  crisis  into  which  she  had  plunged 
him  so  suddenly  was  bringing  home  to  him  all  that 
he- had  at  stake.  That  she  mattered  to  him  so 
vitally  he  had  never  known  till  this  moment. 

"What's  the  good  of  going  into  it!"  she  said 
at  last  desperately.  "  You  can  guess — what  it 


i42  HARVEST 

means  " — a  sudden  crimson  rushed  to  her  cheeks — 
"  to  be  tied  to  a  man — without  honour — or  prin- 
ciple— or  refinement — who  presently  seemed  to  me 
vile  all  through — in  what  he  said — or  what  he  did. 
And  I  was  at  his  mercy.  I  had  married  him  in  such 
a  hurry  he  had  a  right  to  despise  me,  and  he  used 
it!  And  when  I  resisted  and  turned  against  him, 
then  I  found  out  what  his  temper  meant."  She 
raised  her  shoulders  with  a  gesture  which  needed 
no  words.  "  Well — we  got  on  somehow  till  my 
little  girl  was  born " 

Ellesborough  started.  Rachel  turned  on  him  her 
sad,  swimming  eyes.  But  the  mere  mention  of  her 
child  had  given  her  back  her  dignity  and  strength 
to  go  on.  She  became  visibly  more  composed,  as 
she  stood  opposite  to  him,  her  beautiful  dark  head 
against  the  sunset  clouds  outside. 

"  She  only  lived  a  few  weeks.  Her  death  was 
largely  owing  to  him.  But  that's  a  long  story.  And 
after  her  death  I  couldn't  stand  it  any  more.  I  ran 
away.  And  soon  I  heard  that  he  had  taken  up  with 
an  Italian  girl.  There  was  a  large  camp  of  Italians 
on  the  C.P.R.,  quite  close  to  us.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  one  of  the  foremen.  So  then  my 
brother  made  me  go  to  his  lawyers  in  Winnipeg. 
We  collected  evidence  very  easily.  I  got  my 
divorce  eighteen  months  ago.  The  decree  was 


HARVEST  143 

made  absolute  last  February.  So,  of  course,  I'm 
quite  free — quite — quite  free !  " 

She  spoke  the  last  words  almost  savagely,  and 
after  them  she  moved  away  to  the  window  looking 
on  the  down,  and  stood  gazing  through  it,  as  though 
she  had  forgotten  Ellesborough's  presence. 

"  The  action  was  not  defended?  "  he  asked,  in  a 
low  voice. 

She  shook  her  head  without  speaking.  But  after 
a  minute  she  added,- — 

"  I  can  show  you  the  report." 

There  was  silence.  Ellesborough  turned  round, 
put  his  hands  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  buried  his 
face  on  them.  Presently  she  approached  him, 
looked  at  him  with  a  quivering  lip,  and  said  in 
broken  sentences, — 

"  It  has  all  come  so  suddenly — hasn't  it?  I  had 
been  in  such  good  spirits  to-day,  not  thinking  of 
those  horrible  things  at  all.  I  don't  know  what  I 
meant  to  do,  if  you  did  ask  me — for  of  course  I 
knew  you  might.  I  suppose  I  intended  to  put  off 
telling  you — so  as  to  be  sure  first — certain — that 
you  loved  me.  And  then — somehow — when  you 
looked  down  on  me  like  that,  I  felt — that  /  cared 
— much  more  than  I  had  thought  I  cared — too  much 
to  let  you  speak — before  you  knew — before  I'd  told 
you.  It's  always  been  my  way — to — put  off  dis- 


144  HARVEST 

agreeable  things.  And  so  I  thought  I  could  put  this 
off.  But  every  night  I  have  been  awake  thinking — 
'  if  only  he  knew !  ' — and  I  was  wretched-^-for  a 
while — because  you  didn't  know.  But  then  it  went 
away  again — and  I  forgot  it.  One  does  forget 
things — everything — when  one  is  hard  at  work. 
But  I'm  awfully  sorry.  And  now — I  think — we'd 
better  say  good-bye." 

Her  voice  faltered  against  her  will.  He  raised 
himself  quickly. 

"  No — no,"  he  said  passionately,  "  we  won't  say 
good-bye.  Put  you  must  let  me  think — for  you,  as 
well  as  for  myself." 

"  It  would  be  better  to  say  good-bye,"  she  per- 
sisted. "  I'm  afraid — you  expect  in  me — what  I 
haven't  got.  I  see  that  now.  Because  I'm  keen 
about  this  work,  and  I  can  run  this  farm,  you  think 
— perhaps — I'm  a  strong  character.  But  I'm  not. 
I've  no  judgment — not  in  moral  things.  I  give  in 
•. — I'm  weak — and  then — I  could  kill  myself!" 

She  had  grown  very  white  again — and  her  eyes 
were  strangely  fixed  on  him.  The  words  seemed  to 
him  incoherent,  out  of  touch  somehow  even  with 
their  tragic  conversation.  But  his  first  passing  be- 
wilderment was  lost  in  pity  and  passion.  He 
stopped,  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it.  He  came 
nearer. 


HARVEST  145 

But  again  she  drew  back. 

"There's  Janet!"  she  said,  "we  can't  talk  any 


more." 


For  she  had  caught  sight  of  Janet  in  the  farm- 
yard, leading  her  bicycle. 

"  Can  you  meet  me  to-morrow  evening — on  the 
Common?  "  he  said.  "  I  could  be  there  about  six." 

She  frowned  a  little. 

"Is  it  worth  while?" 

"  I  beg  you !  "  he  said  huskily. 

1  Very  well — I'll  come.  We  shall  be  just 
friends,  please." 

"  But,  of  course,  I'll  tell  you  more — if  you  wish." 

Janet's  voice  and  step  were  heard  in  the  passage. 
How  Ellesborough  got  through  the  next  ten  minutes 
he  never  remembered.  When  they  were  over,  he 
found  himself  rushing  through  the  cool  and  silence 
of  the  autumn  night,  thankful  for  this  sheltering 
nature  in  which  to  hide  his  trouble,  his  deep,  deep 
distress. 


VII 


THE  October  night  rang  stormily  round  Great 
End  Farm.  The  northwest  wind  rushing 
over  the  miniature  pass  just  beyond  the 
farm,  where  the  road  dropped  from  the  level  of 
the  upland  in  which  Ipscombe  lay,  to  the  level 
of  the  plain,  was  blowing  fiercely  on  the  square  of 
buildings  which  stood  naked  and  undefended 
against  weather  from  that  quarter  of  the  heaven, 
while  protected  by  the  hills  and  the  woods  from 
the  northeast.  And  mingled  with  the  noisy  or  wail- 
ing gusts  came  the  shrieking  from  time  to  time  of 
one  of  the  little  brown  owls  that  are  now  multiplying 
so  fast  in  the  English  midlands. 

The  noise  of  the  storm  and  the  clamour  of  the 
owl  were  not  the  cause  of  Rachel's  wakefulness;  but 
they  tended  to  make  it  more  feverish  and  irritable. 
Every  now  and  then  she  would  throw  off  the  bed- 
clothes, and  sit  up  with  her  hands  round  her  knees, 
a  white  and  rigid  figure  lit  by  the  solitary  candle 
beside  her.  Then  again  she  would  feel  the  chill  of 
the  autumn  night,  and  crouch  down  shivering  among 
the  bed-clothes,  pining  for  a  sleep  that  would  not 

146 


s 

HARVEST  147 

come.  Instead  of  sleep,  she  could  do  nothing  but 
rehearse  the  scene  with  Ellesborough  again  and 
again.  She  watched  the  alterations  in  his  face — 
she  heard  the  changes  in  his  voice — as  she  told 
her  story.  She  was  now  as  sorry  for  him  as  for 
herself!  The  tears  came  flooding  into  her  eyes  as 
she  thought  of  him.  In  her  selfish  fears  of  his 
anger  she  had  forgotten  his  suffering.  But  the  first 
true  love  of  her  life  was  bringing  understanding. 
She  realized  the  shock  to  him,  and  wept  over  it. 
She  saw,  too,  that  she  had  been  unjust  and  cowardly 
in  letting  the  situation  go  so  far  without  speaking; 
and  that  there  was  no  real  excuse  for  her. 

Would  he  give  her  up?  She  had  told  him  that 
all  was  at  an  end  between  them;  but  that  was  only 
pride — making  a  virtue  of  a  necessity.  Oh,  no,  no, 
he  must  not  give  her  up !  It  was  only  six  weeks 
since  their  first  meeting,  and  though  it  would  be 
untrue  to  say  that  since  the  meeting  he  had  wholly 
possessed  her  thoughts,  she  had  been  capable  all 
through  them  of  that  sort  of  dallying  with  the  vicar 
which  Janet  thought  unkind.  She  had  been  able  to 
find  plenty  of  mind  for  her  work,  and  for  the  ambi- 
tions of  her  new  profession,  and  had  spent  many  a 
careless  hour  steeped  in  the  sheer  physical  pleasure 
of  the  harvest.  Yet,  from  the  beginning,  his  per- 
sonality had  laid  its  grip  on  hers.  She  had  never 


i48  HARVEST 

been  able  to  forget  him  for  long.  One  visit  from 
him  was  no  sooner  over  than  she  was  calculating  on 
and  dreaming  of  the  next.  And  as  the  conscious- 
ness of  some  new  birth  in  her  had  grown,  and  sud- 
den glimpses  had  come  to  her  of  some  supreme  joy, 
possibly  within  her  grasp,  so  fear  had  grown,  and 
anxiety.  She  looked  back  upon  her  past,  and  knew 
it  stained — knew  that  it  must  at  some  point  ri..e  as 
an  obstacle  between  her  and  him. 

But  how  great  an  obstacle?  She  was  going  to 
tell  him,  faithfully,  frankly,  all  the  story  of  her 
marriage — accuse  her  own  rash  self-will  in  marry- 
ing Delane,  confess  her  own  failings  as  a  wife;  she 
would  tell  no  hypocritical  tale.  She  would  make  it 
plain  that  Roger  had  found  in  her  no  mere  suffer- 
ing saint,  and  that  probably  her  intolerance  and 
impatience  had  contributed  to  send  him  to  damna- 
tion. But,  after  all,  when  it  was  told,  what  could 
Ellesborough  do  but  pity  her? — take  her  in  his 
arms — and  comfort  her — for  those,  awful  years — 
and  her  lost  child? 

The  tears  rained  down  her  cheeks.  He  loved 
her!  She  was  certain  of  that.  When  he  had  once 
heard  the  story,  he  could  not  forsake  her!  She 
already  saw  the  pity  in  his  deep  grey  eyes;  she 
already  felt  his  honest,  protecting  arms  about  her. 

Ah — but   then?     Beyond   that   imagined    scene, 


HARVEST  149 

which  rose,  as  though  it  were  staged,  before  her, 
Rachel's  shrinking  eyes,  in  the  windy  darkness, 
seemed  to  be  penetrating  to  another — a  phantom 
scene  in  a  dim  distance — drawn  not  from  the 
future,  but  the  past.  Two  figures  moved  in  it.  One 
was  herself.  The  other  was  not  Roger  Delane. 

The  brown  owl  seemed  to  be  shrieking  just  out- 
side her  window.  Her  nerves  quivered  under  the 
sound  as  though  it  were  her  own  voice.  Why  was 
life  so  cruel,  so  miserable?  Why  cannot  even  the 
gods  themselves  make  undone  what  is  done?  She 
was  none  the  worse — permanently — for  what  had 
happened  in  that  distant  scene — that  play  within  a 
play?  How  was  she  the  worse?  She  was  "  not  a 
bad  woman !  " — as  she  had  said  so  passionately  to 
Janet,  when  they  joined  hands.  There  was  no 
lasting  taint  left  in  mind  and  soul — nothing  to  pre- 
vent her  being  a  pure  and  faithful  wife  to  George 
Ellesborough,  and  a  good  mother  to  his  children. 
It  was  another  Rachel  to  whom  all  that  had  hap- 
pened, a  Rachel  she  had  a  right  to  forget!  She 
was  weak  in  will — she  had  confessed  it.  But  George 
Ellesborough  was  strong.  Leaning  on  him,  and  on 
kind  Janet,  she  could  be  all,  she  would  be  all,  that 
he  still  dreamed.  The  past — that  past — was  dead. 
It  had  no  existence.  Nothing — neither  honour  nor 
love — obliged  her  to  disclose  it.  Except  in  her  own 


150  HARVEST 

mind  it  was  dead  and  buried — as  though  it  had 
never  been.  No  human  being  shared  her  knowl- 
edge of  it,  or  ever  would. 

And  yet  the  Accuser  came  closer  and  closer, 
wrestling  with  her  shrinking  heart.  '  You  can't  live 
a  lie  beside  him  all  your  life !  "  "  It  won't  be  a  lie. 
All  that  matters  to  him  is  what  I  am  now — not  what 
I  was.  And  it  wasn't  I! — it  was  another  woman 
— a  miserable,  battered  creature  who  couldn't  help 
herself."  "  It  will  rise  up  between  you,  and  per- 
haps— after  all — in  some  way — he  will  discover  it." 
"  How  can  he?  Dick  and  I — who  in  all  the  world 
knew,  but  us  two? — and  Dick  is  dead."  "  Are  you 
sure  that  no  one  knew — that  no  one  saw  you? 
Think!" 

A  pale  face  grew  paler  in  the  dim  light,  as 
thought  hesitated: — 

"  There  was  that  wagon — and  the  boy — in  the 
storm."  "Yes— what  then?"  "  Well— what  then  ? 
The  boy  scarcely  saw  me."  "  He  did  see  you." 
"  And  if  he  did — it  is  the  commonest  thing  in  a 
Canadian  winter  to  be  caught  by  a  storm,  to  ask 
shelter  from  a  neighbour."  "  Still — even  if  he 
drew  no  malicious  conclusion,  he  saw  you — alone  in 
that  farm  with  Dick  Tanner,  and  he  probably  knew 
your  name."  "How  should  he  know  my  name?" 
"  He  had  seen  you  before — you  had  seen  him  be- 


HARVEST  151 

fore."  "  I  didn't  know  his  name — I  don't  know  it 
now."  "  No — but  in  passing  your  farm  once,  he 
had  dropped  a  parcel  for  a  neighbour — and  you 
had  seen  him  once — at  a  railway  station."  "  Is  it 
the  least  likely  that  I  shall  ever  see  him  again — or 
that  he  remembers  seeing  me  at  Dick  Tanner's 
door?"  "Not  likely,  perhaps — but  possible — 
quite  possible." 

And  while  this  question  and  answer  passed 
through  the  brain,  the  woman  sitting  up  in  bed 
seemed  to  be  transported  to  a  howling  wintry  scene 
of  whirling  snow — a  November  twilight — and 
against  that  background,  the  hood  of  a  covered 
wagon,  a  boy  holding  the  reins,  the  heavy  cape  on 
his  shoulders  white  with  snow,  the  lamps  of  the 
wagon  shining  dimly  on  him,  and  making  a  kind  of 
luminous  mist  round  the  cart.  She  heard  a  parley, 
saw  a  tall  and  slender  man  with  fair  hair  go  out 
to  the  boy  with  hot  milk  and  bread,  caught  direc- 
tions as  to  the  road,  and  saw  herself  as  a  half- 
hidden  figure  in  the  partially  open  door. 

And  then  afterwards — the  warm  farm  kitchen 
shutting  out  the  storm — a  man  at  her  knees — his 
arms  round  her — his  kisses  on  her  cheek. 

And  again  the  irrevocableness  of  it  closed  down 
upon  her.  It:  could  never  be  undone:  that  was  the 
terrible  commonplace  which  held  her  in  its  grasp. 


152  HARVEST 

It  could  never  be  wiped  out  from  one  human  mind, 
which  must  bear  the  burden  of  it  as  best  it  could, 
till  gradually — steadily — the  life  had  been  killed 
out  of  the  ugly,  haunting  thing,  and  it  had  been 
buried — drowned,  out  of  sight  and  memory. 

But  the  piteous  dialogue  began  again. 

"How  could  I  have  resisted?  I  was  so  mis- 
erable— so  lonely — so  weak !  "  "  You  didn't  love 
him!"  "No — but  I  was  alone  in  the  world." 
"  Well,  then,  tell  George  Ellesborough — he  is  a 
reasonable  man — he  would  understand."  "  I  can't 
— I  can't!  I  have  deceived  him  up  till  now  by  pass- 
ing as  unmarried.  If  I  confess  this,  too,  there  will 
be  no  chance  for  me.  He'll  never  trust  me  in  any- 
thing!— he'll  suspect  everything  I  do  or  say — even 
if  he  goes  on  loving  me.  And  I  couldn't  bear  it! 
— nor  could  he." 

And  so  at  last  the  inward  debate  wore  itself  out, 
and  sleep,  sudden  and  deep,  came  down  upon 
Rachel  Henderson.  When  she  woke  in  the  morning 
it  was  to  cleared  skies  both  in  her  own  mind  and 
in  the  physical  world.  The  nightmare  through 
which  she  had  passed  seemed  to  her  now  unreal, 
even  a  little  absurd.  Her  nerves  were  quieted  by 
sleep,  and  she  saw  plainly  what  she  had  to  do. 
That  "  old,  unhappy,  far-off  thing  "  lurking  in  the 
innermost  depth  of  memory  had  nothing  more  to 


HARVEST  153 

do  with  her.  She  would  look  it  calmly  in  the  face, 
and  put  it  finally — for  ever — away.  But  of  her 
marriage  she  would  tell  everything — everything! — 
to  George  Ellesborough,  and  he  should  deal  with 
her  as  he  pleased. 

The  day  was  misty  and  still.  October,  the  mar- 
vellous October  of  this  year,  was  marching  on. 
Every  day,  Foch  on  the  battlefield  of  France  and 
Belgium  was  bringing  down  the  old  Europe,  and 
clearing  the  ground  for  the  new.  In  English  vil- 
lages and  English  farms,  no  less  than  in  the  big 
towns,  there  was  ferment  and  excitement,  though  it 
showed  but  little.  Would  the  boys  be  home  by 
Christmas — the  sons,  the  brothers,  the  husbands? 
What  would  the  change  be  like — the  life  after  the 
war?  If  there  were  those  who  yearned  and  prayed 
for  it — there  were  those  who  feared  it.  The  war 
had  done  well  for  some,  and  hideously  for  others. 
And  all  through  the  play  of  individual  interests  and 
desires,  and  even  in  the  dullest  minds  there  ran  the 
intoxicating  sense  of  Victory,  of  an  England  greater 
and  more  powerful  than  even  her  own  sons  and 
daughters  had  dared  to  dream — an  England  which 
knew  herself  now,  by  the  stern  test  of  the  four 
years'  struggle,  to  be  possessed  of  powers  and  re- 
sources, spiritual,  mental,  physical,  which  amazed 


154  HARVEST 

herself.  In  all  conscious  minds,  brooding  on  the 
approaching  time,  there  rose  the  question :  "  What 
are  we  going  to  do  with  it?  "  and  even  in  the  uncon- 
scious, the  same  thought  was  present,  as  a  vague 
disturbing  impulse. 

Janet  had  just  read  the  war  telegrams  to  Rachel, 
who  had  come  down  late,  complaining  of  a  head- 
ache; but  when  Janet — the  reserved  and  equable 
Janet — after  going  through  the  news  of  the  recap- 
ture of  Ostend,  Zeebrugge,  and  Bruges,  broke  into 
the  passionate,  low-spoken  comment:  "The  Lord 
is  King — be  the  people  never  so  unquiet!  "  or  could 
not,  for  tears,  finish  the  account  of  the  entry  into 
recaptured  Lille,  and  the  joy  of  its  inhabitants, 
Rachel  sat  irresponsive — or  apparently  so. 

How  would  it  affect  Ellesborough — this  astound- 
ing news?  Would  it  take  him  from  her  the  sooner, 
or  delay  his  going?  That  was  all  she  seemed 
capable  of  feeling. 

Janet  was  troubled  by  her  look  and  attitude,  and 
being  well  aware  that  the  two  had  had  a  long 
tcte-a-tete  the  day  before,  wondered  how  things 
were  going.  But  she  said  nothing;  and  after  break- 
fast Rachel  joined  the  two  girls  in  the  potato-field, 
and  worked  as  hard  as  they,  hour  after  hour.  But 
her  usual  gaiety  was  gone,  and  the  girls  noticed  at 
once  the  dark  rims  under  her  eyes.  They  wondered 


HARVEST  155 

secretly  what  Miss  Henderson's  "  friend  "  had  been 
doing.  For  that  the  "  Cap'n  "  was  courting  their 
employer  had  long  been  plain  to  them.  Betty,  of 
course,  had  a  "  friend,"  the  young  soldier  whose 
sick  leave  was  nearly  up,  and  the  child's  deep 
velvety  eyes  were  looking  nearly  as  tired  as  Miss 
Henderson's.  While  Jenny,  too,  the  timid,  unde- 
veloped Jenny  had  lately  begun  to  take  an  interest 
in  a  "  friend,"  a  young  fellow  belonging  to  Elles- 
borough's  forestry  camp  whom  she  had  met  in 
Millsborough  the  day  of  the  Harvest  Festival. 
They  had  hardly  exchanged  half  an  hour's  real 
conversation.  But  he  had  bought  her  some  sweets 
at  Millsborough,  and  walked  a  bit  of  the  way  home 
with  her.  Then  she  had  seen  him  in  the  village 
once  or  twice.  He  had  some  relations  there — there 
was  some  talk  of  him,  and  that  old  murder  at  the 
farm — she  didn't  know  rightly  what  it  was.  But 
she  felt  somehow  that  Miss  Henderson  wouldn't 
want  to  have  him  about — Miss  Henderson  didn't 
like  talk  of  the  murder — so  Jenny  had  never  asked 
him  to  look  her  up.  But  her  raw,  childish  mind 
was  full  of  him,  and  the  ferments  of  sex  were  stir- 
ring. In  the  secret  opinion  of  both  girls,  "  friends  " 
were  quite  as  much  pain  as  pleasure.  No  girl  could 
do  without  them;  but  they  were  pretty  certain  to 
cause  heart-aches,  to  make  a  girl  wish  at  some  time 


156  HARVEST 

or  other  that  she  had  never  been  born.  'A  London 
factory-girl  would  have  expressed  it  in  the  Cockney 
way:  "Blokes  are  no  good — but  you  must  have  a 
bloke !  " 

The  two  girls  then  concluded  that  Captain  Elles- 
borough  had  been  causing  trouble,  as  all  men  did, 
at  some  point;  and  being  sympathetic  little  souls, 
they  worked  especially  hard  in  the  potato-field,  and 
would  not  allow  Rachel  to  carry  the  heavier  baskets 
to  the  "  clamp." 

Meanwhile  Janet  had  been  wrestling  with  old 
Halsey,  till  he  had  very  reluctantly  yielded  to  her 
persuasion,  and  returned  to  work. 

"  I'm  not  the  man  I  wor,"  he  confided  to  Peter 
Betts,  as  they  were  eating  their  dinner  under  a 
hedge  in  the  damp  October  sunshine.  "  When  I 
wor  a  young  man,  I  wouldn't  ha'  minded  them 
things,  not  if  it  was  iver  so.  But  now  they  do  give 
me  the  shivers  in  my  inside." 

"What  do?"  said  Peter  Betts,  with  a  mouthful 
of  cold  bacon.  He  was  still  greatly  in  the  dark 
as  to  why  Halsey  had  left  work  so  early  in  the 
afternoon  the  day  before,  and  why  he  was  now  in 
such  a  gruff  and  gloomy  mood.  There  was  indeed 
a  rumour  in  the  village  that  old  Halsey  had  seen 
"  summat,"  but  as  Halsey  had  gone  to  bed  imme- 
diately after  Miss  Leighton  had  had  her  say  with 


HARVEST  157 

him,  and  had  refused  to  be  "  interviewed  "  even  by 
his  wife,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  uncertainty  even 
in  the  mind  of  his  oldest  pal,  Peter  Betts. 

"  Why — ghostisses !  "  said  Halsey,  with  a  frown,, 
removing  his  pipe  for  a  moment  to  give  emphasis 
to  the  word.  "  I  don't  see  as  a  man  can  be  ex- 
pected to  deal  with  ghostisses.  Anythin'  else  yer 
like  in  a  small  way — mad  dogs,  or  bulls,  or  snakes, 
where  they  keep  'em,  which,  thank  the  Lord,  they 
don't  in  these  parts — but  not  them." 

"What  did  yer  see?"  said  Betts,  after  a  few 
ruminating  pulls. 

l<  Well,  I  saw  old  Watson,  the  keeper,  as  was 
murdered  sixty  years  since,  'at's  what  I  saw,"  said 
Halsey  with  slow  decisiveness. 

"An'  what  might  be  like?"  asked  Betts,  with 
equal  deliberation.  The  day  was  mild  and  sunny; 
the  half-ploughed  field  on  which  they  had  been 
working  lay  alternatively  yellow  in  the  stubbles  and 
a  rich  brown  purple  in  the  new  turned  furrows  under 
the  autumn  noon.  A  sense  of  well-being  had  been 
diffused  in  the  two  old  men  by  food  and  rest. 
Halsey's  tongue  grew  looser. 

'  Well,  I  saw  a  man  come  creepin'  an'  crouchin' 
down  yon  grass  road" — (it  was  visible  from 
where  they  sat,  as  a  green  streak  on  the  side  of  the 
hill) — "same  as  several  people  afore  me  'as  seen 


158  HARVEST 

'um — same  as  they  allus  say  old  Watson  must  ha' 
come  after  Dempsey  shot  'im.  He  wor  shot  in  the 
body.  The  doctors  as  come  to  look  at  'im  fust  foun' 
that  out.  An'  if  ye're  shot  in  the  body,  I  under- 
stan',  yo  naterally  double  up  a  bit  if  yo  try  to  walk. 
Well — that's  jes'  how  I  saw  'im — crouchin'  along. 
Yo  remember  it  wor  a  dull  evenin'  yesterday — an' 
it  wor  gettin'  dark,  though  it  worn't  dark.  It  wor 
not  mucty  after  fower,  by  my  old  watch — but  I 
couldn't  see  'im  at  all  plain.  I  wor  in  Top-End 
field — you  know? — as  leads  up  to  that  road.  An' 
I  watched  'im  come  along  making  for  that  outside 
cart-shed — that  'un  that's  back  to  back  wi'  the 
shippen,  where  they  foun'  Watson  lyin'.  An'  I  wor 
much  puzzled  by  the  look  on  'im.  I  didn't  think 
nothink  about  old  Watson,  fust  of  all — I  didn't 
know  what  to  think.  I  was  right  under  the  hedge 
wi'  the  horses;  'ee  couldna'  ha'  seen  me — an'  I 
watched  'im.  He  stopped,  onst  or  twice,  as  though 
he  wor  restin'  hisself — pullin'  'isself  together — and 
onst  I  'eered  'im  cough " 

Halsey  looked  round  suddenly  on  his  companion 
as  though  daring  him  to  mock. 

Betts,  however,  could  not  help  himself.  He  gave 
an  interrupting  and  sceptical  chuckle. 

"  Ghostisses  don't  cough,  as  ever  I  'eered  on." 

"And  why  shouldn't  they?"  said  Halsey  testily. 


HARVEST  159 

"  If  they  can  do  them  other  things  they'd  used  to 
do  when  livin' — walkin'  an'  seein'  an'  such-like — ? 
why  not  coughin'?  " 

Betts  shook  his  head. 

"  Never  'eered  on  it,"  he  said,  with  conviction. 

"  Well,  anyways  I  seed  him  come  down  to  that 
shed,  an'  then  I  lost  'im.  But  I  'ad  the  creeps 
somehow,  and  I  called  to  Jenny  to  come  an'  take 
the  'orses.  An'  then  I  went  after  'im.  But  there 
was  all  the  field  an'  the  lane  to  cross,  and  when  I 
come  to  the  shed,  there  wasn't  no  one  and  nothink 
to  be  seen — excep' " 

The  old  man  paused,  and  again  looked  doubt- 
fully at  his  companion. 

"Well?"  said  Betts  eagerly,  his  philosophic  atti- 
tude giving  way  a  little. 

"  Excep' — a  large  patch  o'  blood — fresh  blood — 
I  touched  it — on  one  of  them  ole  sacks  lyin'  near 
the  cart,"  said  Halsey  slowly.  "  An'  it  worn't  there 
in  the  afternoon,  for  I  moved  the  sacks  mysel'." 

Betts  whistled  softly.     Halsey  resumed, — 

'  There  was  nothin'  moved — or  taken  away — 
nothin'  at  all ! — only  that  patch.  So  then  I  went  all 
round  the  farm,  and  there  was  nobody.  I  thought 
'ee  might  ha'  turned  back  by  the  grass  road,  p'raps, 
without  my  seein'  'im,  so  I  went  that  way,  and  there 
was  nothin' — until — a  little  way  up  the  road — there 


160  HARVEST 

was  blood  again  " — the  old  man's  voice  dropped — 
"  every  couple  o'  yards  or  so — a  drop  or  two  here 
— an'  a  drop  or  two  there — just  as  they  tracked  old 
Watson  by  it,  up  the  hill,  and  into  yon  wood — 
where  Dempsey  set  on  him." 

The  two  old  men  looked  at  each  other.  Betts 
was  evidently  impressed. 

"Are  you  sure  it  was  blood?" 

"  Sure.  Last  night,  Hastings  said  it  was  sheep- 
dip  !  After  I  tole  'im,  when  'ee  went  to  look  under 
the  shed,  it  wor  so  dark  'ee  couldn't  see  nothin'. 
Well,  'ee  knew  better  this  mornin'.  'Ee  fetched 
me,  an'  asst  me  if  I'd  said  anythin'  to  Miss  Janet. 
And  I  said,  no.  So  then  he  tole  me  I  wasn't  to  say 
nothin'  to  the  ladies,  nor  the  girls,  nor  anybody. 
An'  'ee'd  done  summat  wi'  the  sack — I  dunno  what. 
But  'ee  might  ha'  held  'is  tongue  last  night  about 
sheep-dip!  Who's  been  dippin'  sheep  about  here? 
'As  Miss  Henderson  got  any  ruddle  anywhere 
about  the  farm?  I  know  she  ain't! — an'  Muster 
Hastings  knows  she  ain't." 

"Why  didn't  yer  tell  Miss  Janet? — about  the 
bleedin'?" 

'  Well,  I  was  a  bit  skeered.  I  thought  I'd  sleep 
on't,  before  I  got  talkin'  any  more.  But  on  the 
way  'ome,  as  I  relit  yer,  I  met  Hastings,  an'  tole 
fim,  an'  then  give  'im  notice." 


HARVEST  161 

'*  That  wor  a  bit  hasty,  worn't  it?"  said  Betts 
after  a  moment,  in  a  judicial  tone.  But  he  had  been 
clearly  much  exercised  by  his  companion's  account, 
and  his  pipe  hanging  idly  from  his  hands  showed 
that  his  thoughts  were  active. 

"  Well,  it  might  ha'  bin,"  Halsey  admitted,  "  but 
as  I  said  afore,  I'm  gettin'  an  old  man,  and  I  don't 
want  no  truck  wi'  things  as  I  don't  unnerstan'.  It 
give  me  the  wust  night  as  I've  had  since  I  had  that 
bad  turn  wi'  the  influenza  ten  year  ago." 

"You  didn't  see  his  face?" 

"  No." 

"  An'  'ee  didn't  mind  you  of  anybody?  " 

Halsey  hesitated. 

"  Well,  onst  I  did  think  I'd  seen  one  o'  the 
same  build — soomwhere.  But  I  can't  recolleck 
where." 

"  As  for  the  blood,"  said  Betts  reflectively,  "  it's 
as  curous  as  the  coughin'.  Did  you  iver  hear  tell  as 
ghosts  could  bleed?  " 

Hastings  shook  his  head.  Steeped  in  meditation, 
the  two  men  smoked  silently  for  a  while.  Then 
Betts  said,  with  the  explosiveness  of  one  who 
catches  an  idea, — 

"  Have  yer  thought  o'  tellin'  John  Dempsey?  " 

"I  hain't  thought  o'  tellin'  nobody.  An'  I 
shouldn't  ha'  told  Miss  Leighton  what  I  did  tell 


1 62  HARVEST 

her,  if  she  'adn't  come  naggin'  about  my  givin' 
notice." 

"  You  might  as  well  tell  John  Dempsey.  Why, 
it's  his  business,  is  old  Watson !  Haven't  yer  seen 
'imatall?" 

Halsey  said  "  No,"  holding  his  handsome  old 
head  rather  high.  Had  he  belonged  to  a  higher 
station  in  life,  his  natural  reticence,  and  a  fastidious 
personal  dignity  would  have  carried  him  far.  To  a 
modern  statesman  they  are  at  least  as  valuable  as 
brains.  In  the  small  world  of  Ipscombe  they  only 
meant  that  Halsey  himself  held  rather  scornfully 
aloof  from  the  current  village  gossip,  and  got  mocked 
at  for  his  pains.  The  ordinary  human  instinct  re- 
venged itself,  however,  when  he  was  tete-a-tete  with 
his  old  chum  Peter  Betts.  Betts  divined  at  any  rate 
from  the  expression  in  the  old  man's  eyes  that  he 
might  talk,  and  welcome. 

So  he  poured  out  what  he  knew  about  John  Demp- 
sey, a  Canadian  lad  working  in  the  Forestry  Corps 
at  Ralstone,  who  turned  out  to  be  the  grandson  of 
the  Dempsey  who  had  always  been  suspected  of  the 
murder  of  Richard  Watson  in  the  year  1859.  This 
young  Dempsey,  he  said,  had  meant  to  come  to  Ips- 
combe after  the  war,  and  put  what  he  knew  before 
the  police.  But  finding  himself  sent  to  Ralstone, 
which  was  only  five  miles  from  Ipscombe,  he  saw 


HARVEST  163 

no  reason  to  wait,  and  he  had  already  given  all  the 
information  he  could  to  the  superintendent  of  police 
at  Millsborough.  His  grandfather  had  signed  a 
written  confession  before  his  death,  and  John  Demp- 
sey  had  handed  it  over.  The  old  man,  it  appeared, 
had  "  turned  pious  "  during  a  long  illness  before 
his  death,  and  had  wished  to  square  matters  with 
his  conscience  and  the  Almighty.  When  his  grand- 
son had  volunteered  for  the  war,  and  was  about 
to  sail  for  Europe,  old  Dempsey  had  sent  for  him, 
had  told  him  the  story,  and  charged  him,  when  he 
was  able,  to  place  his  confession  in  the  proper  hands. 
And  having  done  that,  he  died  "  very  quiet  and 
comfortable  " — so  John  Dempsey  reported. 

"  Which  is  more  than  poor  Jem  Watson  did," 
growled  Halsey.  He  felt  neither  respect  nor  sym- 
pathy for  a  man  who,  having  set  up  a  secret,  couldn't 
keep  it;  and  the  confession  itself,  rather  than  the 
crime  confessed,  confirmed  the  poor  opinion  he  had 
always  held  of  the  elder  Dempsey  when  they  were 
young  men  in  the  village  together.  But  he  agreed 
to  let  Betts  bring  "  young  John  "  to  see  him.  And 
thereupon  they  went  back  to  the  sowing  of  one  of 
Miss  Henderson's  big  fields  with  winter  wheat. 

When  the  milking  was  done,  and  work  was  nearly 
over  for  the  day,  a  note  brought  by  messenger  ar- 


1 64  HARVEST 

rived  at  the  farm  for  Miss  Henderson.  It  was  from 
Ellesborough — a  few  scribbled  words.  "  I  am  pre- 
vented from  coming  this  evening.  The  Chief  For- 
estry Officer  of  my  district  has  just  arrived,  and 
stays  the  night.  I  hope  to  come  over  to-morrow  be- 
tween six  and  seven.  Shall  I  find  you  ?  " 

Rachel  scribbled  an  answer,  which  a  small  boy 
on  a  bicycle  carried  off.  Then  she  went  slowly  back 
to  the  sitting-room,  so  disappointed  and  unnerved 
that  she  was  on  the  brink  of  tears.  Janet  who  had 
just  come  in  from  milking,  was  standing  by  the  table, 
mending  a  rent  in  her  waterproof.  She  looked  up 
as  Rachel  entered,  and  the  needle  paused  in  her 
hand. 

"  I  say,  Rachel ! — .you  do  look  overdone !  YouVe 
been  going  at  it  too  hard." 

For  all  day  long  Rachel  had  been  lifting,  and 
sorting,  and  carrying,  in  the  potato-field,  finding  in 
the  severe  physical  exertion  the  only  relief  from 
restlessness.  She  shook  her  head  irritably  and  came 
to  stand  by  the  wood  fire  which  Janet  had  just  lit, 
a  welcome  brightness  in  the  twilight  room. 

"  Suppose  you  knock  up "  began  Janet  in  a 

tone  of  remonstrance.  Rachel  cut  her  short. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you — please,  Janet." 

Janet  looked  round  in  astonishment  and  put  down 
her  work.  Rachel  was  standing  by  the  fire,  with  her 


HARVEST  165 

hands  behind  her  back,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Janet.  She 
was  still  in  the  graceful  tunic  and  knee-breeches,  in 
which  her  young  and  splendid  youth  seemed  always 
most  at  home.  But  she  had  taken  off  her  cap,  and 
her  brown  hair  was  falling  round  a  pale  face. 

"  Janet — you  know  Captain  Ellesborough  and  I 
had  a  long  talk  last  night?  " 

Janet  smiled. 

"  Of  course  I  do.  And  of  course  I  have  my  own 
thoughts  about  it!  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  are,"  said  Rachel 
slowly.  "  But — I'd  better  tell  you— Captain  Elles- 
borough asked  me  to  marry  him." 

She  paused. 

"  Did  you  think  that  would  be  news  to  any  of 
us  ?  "  said  Janet,  laughing,  and  then  stopped.  The 
sudden  contraction  of  pain  in  Rachel's  face,  and 
something  like  a  sob  startled  her. 

"  Don't,  Janet,  please.  I  told  him  something — 
which  made  him  wonder — whether  he  did  want  to 
marry  me  after  all." 

Janet's  heart  gave  an  uncomfortable  jump.  A 
score  of  past  conjectures  and  misgivings  rushed  back 
upon  her. 

"What  did  you  tell  him?" 

"  What  I  see  now  I  ought  to  have  toH  you — as 
well  as  him — long  ago.  Henderson  is  my  maiden 


1 66  HARVEST 

name.  I  was  a  married  woman  for  three  years.  I 
had  a  child  which  died.  I  divorced  my  husband, 
and  he's1  still  alive." 

The  colour  had  flamed  back  into  her  cheeks. 
Janet  sat  silent,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Rachel's. 

"I  did  tell  you  I  had  a  story,  didn't  I?"  said 
Rachel  insistently. 

"  You  did.  I  took  my  chance.  It  was  you  who — 
who  brought  the  action?  " 

"  I  brought  the  action.  There  was  no  defence. 
And  the  judge  said-4-I'd  been  awfully  badly  treated 
— it  was  no  wonder  I  wanted — to  get  free.  Well, 
there  it  is.  I'm  sorry  I  deceived  you.  I'm  sorry  I 
deceived  him." 

"  You  didn't  deceive  me,"  said  Janet.  "  I  had 
practically  guessed  it."  She  rose  slowly,  and  going 
up  to  Rachel,  she  put  her  hands  on  her  shoul- 
ders,— 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  you  poor  thing!  "  Her 
voice  and  eyes  were  full  of  emotion — full  of  pity. 
But  Rachel  shrank  away  a  little  from  her  touch, 
murmuring  under  her  breath,  "  Because  I  wanted 
never  to  hear  of  it — or  think  of  it  again."  Then, 
after  a  pause,  she  added,  "  But  if  you  want  to  know 
more,  I'll  tell  you.  It's  your  right.  My  married 
name  was  Delane." 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  more !  "  said  Janet  perempto- 


HARVEST  167 

rily.  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  it.  But  you  ought  to 
be — quite  frank — with  him." 

"  I  know  that.  Naturally — it  was  a  great  shock 
to  him." 

There  was  something  very  touching  in  her  atti- 
tude. She  stood  there  like  a  shamefaced  boy,  in 
her  quasi-male  dress;  and  the  contrast  between  her 
strong  young  beauty,  and  the  humility  and  depres- 
sion of  her  manner  appealed  with  singular  force  to 
Janet's  mind,  so  constantly  and  secretly  preoccupied 
with  spiritual  things.  Rachel  seemed  to  her  so  much 
cleverer  and  more  vigorous  than  herself  in  all  mat- 
ters of  ordinary  life.  Only  in  the  region  of  religious 
experience  did  Janet  know  herself  the  superior.  But 
Rachel  had  never  made  any  outward  sign  that  she 
cared  in  the  least  to  know  more  of  that  region, 
whether  in  Janet  or  other  people.  She  had  held 
entirely  aloof  from  it.  But  self-reproach — moral 
suffering — are  two  of  the  keys  that  lead  to  it.  And 
both  were  evident  here.  Janet's  heart  went  out  to 
her  friend. 

"When  is  he  coming?" 

"  To-morrow  evening.  I  dare  say  he'll  give 
me  up." 

Janet  marvelled  at  the  absence  of  self-assertion — 
the  touch  of  despair — in  words  and  tone.  So  it  had 
gone  as  deep  as  this!  She  blamed  herself  for  lack 


1 68  HARVEST 

of  perception.  An  ordinary  love-affair,  about  to  end 
in  an  ordinary  way — that  was  how  it  had  appeared 
to  her.  And  suddenly  it  seemed  to  her  she  had 
stumbled  upon  what  might  be  tragedy. 

No,  no — there  should  be  no  tragedy !  She  put  her 
arms  round  Rachel. 

"  My  dear,  he  won't  give  you  up !  As  if  I  hadn't 
seen !  He  worships  the  ground  you  tread  upon !  " 

Rachel  said  nothing.  She  let  her  face  rest  on 
Janet's  shoulder.  When  she  raised  it,  it  was  wet. 
But  she  kissed  Janet  quietly,  and  went  away  without 
another  word. 


VIII 

FOUR  grown-ups  and  a  child  were  gathered 
in  the  living-room  of  Halsey's  cottage.  The 
cottage  was  old  like  its  tenant  and  had  all  the 
inconveniences  of  age ;  but  it  was  more  spacious  than 
the  modern  cottage  often  is,  since  it  and  its  neigh- 
bours represented  a  surviving  fragment  from  an  old 
Jacobean  house — a  house  of  gentlefolks — which  had 
once  stood  on  the  site.  Most  of  the  house  had  been 
pulled  down,  but  Colonel  Shepherd's  grandfather 
had  retained  part  of  it,  and  turned  it  into  two  cot- 
tages— known  as  I  and  2  Ipscombe  Place — which 
for  all  their  drawbacks  were  much  in  demand  in  the 
village,  and  conferred  a  certain  distinction  on  their 
occupants.  Mrs.  Halsey's  living  room  possessed 
a  Tudor  mantelpiece  in  moulded  brick,  into  which  a 
small  modern  kitchener  had  been  barbarously  fitted; 
and  three  fine  beams  with  a  little  incised  ornament 
ran  across  the  ceiling. 

Mrs.  Halsey  had  not  long  cleared  away  the  tea, 
and  brought  in  a  paraffin  lamp,  small  but  cheerful. 
She  was  a  middle-aged  woman,  much  younger  than 
her  husband — -with  an  ironic  half-dreamy  eye-,  and 

169 


170  HARVEST 

a  native  intelligence  much  superior  to  her  surround- 
ings. She  was  suffering  from  a  chronic  abscess  in 
the  neck,  which  had  strange  periodic  swellings  and 
subsidences,  all  of  which  were  endlessly  interesting 
to  its  possessor.  Mrs.  Halsey,  indeed,  called  the 
abscess  "  she,"  wrapped  it  lovingly  in  red  flannel, 
describing  the  evening  dressing  of  it  as  u  putting  her 
to  bed,"  and  talked  of  "  her  "  qualities  and  oddities 
as  though,  in  the  phrase  of  her  next-door  neighbour, 
"  it'd  a  been  a  christened  child."  She  had  decided 
views  on  politics,  and  was  a  match  for  any  political 
agent  who  might  approach  her  with  an  eye  to  her 
vote,  a  commodity  which  she  kept,  so  to  speak,  like 
a  new  shilling  in  her  pocket,  turning  it  from  time 
to  time  to  make  sure  it  was  there. 

But  independent  as  she  was,  she  rarely  interfered 
with  the  talk  of  Halsey  and  his  male  friends.  And 
on  this  occasion  when  the  three  men — Halsey,  Peter 
Betts,  and  young  Dempsey — had  gathered  smoking 
round  the  fire,  she  settled  herself  with  her  knitting 
by  the  table  and  the  lamp,  throwing  in  every  now 
and  then  a  muttered  and  generally  sarcastic  com- 
ment, of  which  her  husband  took  no  notice — 
especially  as  he  knew  very  well  that  the  sarcasms 
were  never  aimed  at  him,  and  that  she  was  as  proud 
of  him  as  she  was  generally  contemptuous  of  the 
rest  of  the  world. 


HARVEST  171 

Halsey  had  just  finished  a  rather  grudging  de- 
scription of  his  experiences  two  days  before  for  John 
Dempsey's  benefit.  He  was  conscious  that  each  time 
he  repeated  them,  they  sounded  more  incredible.  He 
didn't  want  to  repeat  them;  he  didn't  mean  to  repeat 
them ;  after  this,  nobody  should  get  any  more  out  of 
him  at  all. 

Young  Dempsey's  attitude  was  certainly  not  en- 
couraging. Attentive  at  first,  he  allowed  himself, 
as  Halsey's  talk  developed,  a  mild,  progressive  grin, 
which  spread  gradually  over  his  ugly  but  honest 
face,  and  remained  there.  In  face  of  it,  Halsey's 
speech  became  more  and  more  laconic,  till  at  last  he 
shut  his  mouth  with  a  snap,  and  drawing  himself  up 
in  his  chair,  re-lit  his  pipe  with  the  expression  that 
meant,  "  All  right — I've  done — you  may  take  it  or 
leave  it." 

'  Well,  I  don't  see  that  what  you  saw,  Mr. 
Halsey,  was  so  very  uncommon!  "  Dempsey  began, 
still  smiling,  in  spite  of  a  warning  look  from  Betts. 
'  You  saw  a  man  come  down  that  road?  Well,  in 
the  first  place,  why  shouldn't  a  man  come  down  that 
road — it's  a  reg'lar  right  of  way " 

"  It's  the  way,  mind  ye,  as  the  ghost  of  old  Wat- 
son has  allus  come !  "  put  in  Peter  Betts,  chival- 
rously anxious  to  support  his  friend  Halsey,  as  far 
as  he  could,  against  a  sceptical  stranger.  "  An'  it's 


172  HARVEST 

been  seen  twice  on  that  road  already,  as  I  can  re- 
member: once  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  by  old  Dan 
Holt,  the  postmaster,  and  once  about  ten  years 
ago." 

Dempsey  looked  at  the  speaker  indulgently.  To 
his  sharpened  transatlantic  sense,  these  old  men,  in 
this  funny  old  village,  seemed  to  him  a  curiously  dim 
and  feeble  folk.  He  could  hardly  prevent  himself 
from  talking  to  them  as  though  they  were  children. 
He  supposed  his  grandfather  would  have  been  like 
that  if  he'd  stayed  on  at  Ipscombe.  He  thanked 
the  stars  he  hadn't! 

But  since  he  had  been  summoned  to  consult,  as  a 
person  who  had  a  vested  interest,  of  a  rather  blood- 
curdling sort,  in  the  Great  End  ghost,  he  had  to  give 
his  opinion;  and  he  gave  it,  while  Halsey  listened 
and  smoked  in  a  rather  sulky  silence.  For  it  was 
soon  evident  that  the  murderer's  grandson  had  no 
use  at  all  for  the  supposed  ghost-story.  He  tore  it 
ruthlessly  to  pieces.  In  the  first  place,  Halsey  de- 
scribed the  man  seen  on  the  grass-road  as  tall  and 
lanky.  But  according  to  his  grandfather's  account, 
the  murdered  gamekeeper,  on  the  contrary,  was  a 
broadly-built,  stumpy  man.  In  the  next  place — the 
coughing  and  the  bleeding ! — he  laughed  so  long  and 
loudly  at  these  points  in  the  story  that  Halsey's 
still  black  bushy  eyebrows  met  frowningly  over  a 


HARVEST  173 

pair  of  angry  eyes,  and  Betts  tried  hurriedly  to 
tame  the  young  man's  mirth. 

"  Well,  if  yer  don't  think  that  man  as  Halsey 
saw  was  the  ghost,  what  do  you  s'pose  'ee  was  doin' 
there?  "  asked  Betts,  "  and  where  did  he  go?  Hal- 
sey went  right  round  the  farm.  The  hill  just  there 
is  as  bare  as  my  hand.  He  must  ha'  seen  the  man — 
if  it  wor  a  man — an'  he  saw  nothin'.  There  isn't 
a  tree  or  a  bush  where  that  man  could  ha'  hid  hisself 
— if  he  wor  a  man." 

Dempsey  declared  he  should  have  to  go  and  ex- 
amine the  ground  himself  before  he  could  answer 
the  question.  But  of  course  there  was  an  answer 
to  it — there  must  be.  As  to  the  man — why  Mills- 
borough,  and  Ipscombe  too,  had  been  full  of  out- 
landish East  Enders,  flying  from  the  raids,  Poles 
and  Russians,  and  such  like — thievin'  fellows  by  all 
accounts.  Why  couldn't  it  be  one  of  them — prowl- 
ing round  the  farm  for  anything  he  could  pick  up — 
and  frightened  off,  when  he  saw  Halsey?  " 

Betts,  smoking  with  prodigious  energy,  inquired 
what  he  made  of  the  blood.  Didn't  he  know  the 
old  story  of  how  Watson  was  tracked  down  to  the 
cart-shed?  Dempsey  laughed  again. 

14  Well,  it's  curious,  grant  ye.  It's  real  funny! 
But  where  are  you  going  to  get  blood  without  a 
body?  And  if  a  thing's  a  body,  it  isn't  a  ghost!  " 


174  HARVEST 

The  two  old  men  were  silent.  Halsey  was  lost  in 
a  hopeless  confusion  of  ideas,  and  Betts  was  deter- 
mined not  to  give  his  pal  away. 

But  here — say  what  you  like!- — was  a  strange 
man,  seen  on  the  road,  which  had  been  used,  ac- 
cording to  village  tradition,  on  several  previous 
occasions,  by  the  authentic  ghost  of  Watson;  his 
course  was  marked  by  traces  of  blood,  just  as  Wat- 
son's path  of  pain  had  been  marked  on  the  night  of 
the  murder;  and  on  reaching  the  spot  where  Watson 
had  breathed  his  last,  the  apparition,  whatever  it 
was,  had  vanished.  Perplexity,  superstition,  and 
common  sense  fought  each  other.  Halsey  who  knew 
much  of  his  Bible  by  heart  was  inwardly  comparing 
texts.  "  A  spirit  hath  not  flesh  and  blood  " — True 
— but  on  the  other  hand  what  about  the  "  bodies 
of  the  saints" — that  "arose"?  While,  perhaps, 
the  strongest  motive  of  all  in  the  old  man's 
mind  was  the  obstinate  desire  to  prove  him- 
self right,  and  so  to  confound  young  scoffers  like 
Dempsey. 

Dempsey,  however,  having  as  he  thought  disposed 
of  Halsey's  foolish  tale  was  determined  to  tell  his 
own,  which  had  already  made  a  great  impression 
.in  certain  quarters  of  the  village,  and  ranked  in- 
deed as  the  chief  sensation  of  the  day.  To  be  able 
to  listen  to  the  story  of  a  murder  told  by  the  grand- 


HARVEST  175 

son  of  the  murderer,  to  whom  the  criminal  himself 
had  confessed  it,  and  that  without  any  fear  of  un- 
pleasant consequences  to  any  one,  was  a  treat  that 
Ipscombe  had  seldom  enjoyed,  especially  as  the 
village  was  still  rich  in  kinsfolk  of  both  murdered 
and  murderer. 

Dempsey  had  already  repeated  the  story  so  often 
that  it  was  by  now  perfect  in  every  detail,  and  it 
produced  the  same  effect  in  this  lamplit  kitchen  as 
in  other.  Halsey,  forgetting  his  secret  ill-humour, 
was  presently  listening  open-mouthed.  Mrs.  Halsey 
laid  down  her  knitting,  and  stared  at  the  speaker 
over  the  top  of  her  spectacles;  while  across  Betts's 
gnome-like  countenance  smiles  went  out  and  in, 
especially  at  the  more  gruesome  points  of  the  tale. 
The  light  sparkled  on  the  young  Canadian's  belt, 
the  Maple  Leaf  in  the  khaki  hat  which  lay  across 
his  knees,  on  the  badge  of  the  Forestry  Corps  on 
his  shoulder.  The  old  English  cottage,  with  its 
Tudor  brick-work,  and  its  overhanging  beams,  the 
old  English  labourers  with  the  stains  of  English 
soil  upon  them,  made  the  setting;  and  in  the  midst, 
sat  the  "  new  man,"  from  the  New  World,  holding 
the  stage,  just  as  Ellesborough  the  New  Englander 
was  accustomed  to  hold  it,  at  Great  End  Farm.  All 
over  England,  all  over  unravaged  France  and  north- 
ern Italy  similar  scenes  at  that  moment  were  being 


176  HARVEST 

thrown  on  the  magic  sheet  of  life ;  and  at  any  drop  in 
the  talk,  the  observer  could  almost  hear,  in  the  still- 
ness, the  weaving  of  the  Great  Loom  on  which  the 
Ages  come  and  go. 

There  was  a  pause,  when  Dempsey  came  to  a 
dramatic  end  with  the  last  breath  of  his  grand- 
father; till  Mrs.  Halsey  said  dryly,  fixing  the  young 
man  with  her  small  beady  eyes, — 

"  And  you  don't  mind  telling  on  your  own  grand- 
father?" 

"Why  shouldn't  I?"  laughed  Dempsey,  "when 
it's  sixty  years  ago.  They've  lost  their  chance  of 
hanging  him  anyhow." 

Mrs.  Halsey  shook  her  head  in  inarticulate  pro- 
test. Betts  said  reflectively, — 

"  I  wouldn't  advise  you  to  be  tellin'  that  tale  to 
Miss  Henderson." 

Dempsey's  expression  changed  at  the  name.  He 
bent  forward  eagerly. 

"  By  the  way,  who  is  Miss  Henderson?  Do  you 
know  where  she  comes  from?" 

The  others  stared. 

"  Last  winter,"  said  Betts  at  last,  "  she  wor  on  a 
farm  down  Devonshire  way.  And  before  that  she 
wor  at  college — with  Miss  Janet." 

"Was  she  ever  in  Canada?" 

"  Yes !  "  said  Halsey  with  sudden  decision,  "  she 


HARVEST  177 

wor — for  she  told  me  one  day  when  I  wor  mendin' 
the  new  reaper  and  binder,  that  we  in  this  country 
didn't  know  what  harvest  meant.  '  Why,  I've  helped 
to  reap  a  field — in  Canada,'  she  ses,  '  fower  miles 
square,'  she  ses,  '  six  teams  o'  horses — an'  six  horses 
to  the  team,'  she  ses — '  that's  somethin'  like.'  So  I 
know  she's  been  in  Canada." 

"Ah!"  said  Dempsey,  staring  at  the  carpet. 
"  And  she's  not  married?  You're  sure  she's  not 
married?" 

"Married?"  said  all  the  others,  looking  at  him 
in  disapproving  astonishment. 

"  Well,  if  she  ain't,  I  saw  her  sister — or  her 
double — twice — about  two-and-a-half  year  ago — at 
a  place  thirty  miles  from  Winnipeg.  I  could  ha' 
sworn  I'd  seen  her  before !  " 

:'  Well,  you  can't  ha'  seen  her  before,"  said  Betts 
positively;  "  cause  she's  Miss,  not  Missis." 

"Ah!"  said  Dempsey  again  in  a  non-committal 
voice,  looking  hard  this  time  into  the  fire. 

'Where  have  you  seen  her — in  these  parts?" 
asked  Mrs.  Halsey. 

"At  the  Harvest  Festival,  t'other  day.  But  I 
must  have  been  mistaken — that's  all.  I  think  I'm 
going  to  call  upon  her  some  day." 

"Whatever  for?" 

"  Why — to  tell  her  about  my  grandfather !  "  said 


1 78  HARVEST 

Dempsey,  looking  round  at  Mrs.  Halsey,  with  an 
air  of  astonishment  that  any  one  should  ask  him  the 
question. 

"  You  won't  be  welcome." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  she  don't  want  to  hear  nothin'  about 
Watson's  murder.  And  whatever's  the  good  on  it, 
anyhow?"  said  Mrs.  Halsey  with  sudden  emphasis. 
"  You've  told  us  a  good  tale,  I'll  grant  ye.  But 
yer  might  as  well  be  pullin'  the  old  feller  'isself  out 
of  his  grave,  as  goin'  round  killin'  'im  every  night 
fresh,  as  you  be  doin'.  Let  'im  be.  Skelintons  is 
skelintons." 

Dempsey,  feeling  rather  indignantly  that  his  pains 
had  been  wasted,  and  his  audience  was  not  worthy 
of  him,  rose  to  take  his  departure.  Halsey's  face 
cleared.  He  turned  to  look  at  his  wife,  and  she 
winked  in  return.  And  when  the  young  forester 
had  taken  his  departure,  Mrs.  Halsey  stroked  the 
red  flannel  round  her  swollen  neck  complacently. 

"  I  'ad  to  pike  'im  out  soomhow.  It's  'igh  time 
she  wor  put  to  bed !  " 

That  same  evening,  Ellesborough  left  the  Ral- 
st@ne  camp  behind  him  about  six  o'clock,  and  hur- 
ried through  the  late  October  evening  towards 
Great  End  Farm.  During  the  forty-eight  hours 


HARVEST  179 

which  had  elapsed  since  his  interview  with  Rachel 
he  had  passed  through  much  suffering,  and  agonies 
of  indecision.  He  had  had  to  reconstruct  all  his 
ideas  of  the  woman  he  loved.  Instead  of  the  proud 
and  virginal  creature  he  had  imagined  himself  to  be 
wooing,  amid  the  beautiful  setting  of  her  harvest 
fields,  he  had  to  think  of  her  as  a  woman  dimmed 
and  besmirched  by  an  unhappy  marriage  with  a  bad 
man.  For  himself,  he  certainly  resented  the  con- 
cealment which  had  been  practised  on  him.  Yet  at 
the  same  time  he  thought  he  understood  the  state 
of  exasperation,  of  invincible  revolt  which  had  led 
to  it.  And  he  kept  reminding  himself  that,  after 
all,  her  confession  had  anticipated  his  proposal. 

Nevertheless  such  men  as  he  have  ideas  of  mar- 
riage, both  romantic  and  austere.  They  are  inclined 
to  claim  what  they  give — a  clean  sheet,  and  the  first- 
fruits  of  body  and  soul.  In  Rachel's  case  the  first- 
fruits  had  been  wasted  on  a  marriage,  of  which  the 
ugly  and  inevitable  incidents  haunted  Ellesbor- 
ough's  imagination.  One  moment  he  shrank  from 
the  thought  of  them;  the  next  he  could  not  restrain 
the  protesting  rush  of  passion — the  vow  that  his 
love  should  put  her  back  on  that  pinnacle  of  honour 
and  respect  from  which  fate  should  never  have  al- 
lowed her  to  fall. 

Well,  she  had  promised  to  tell  him  her  story  in 


i8o  HARVEST 

full.  He  awaited  it.  As  to  his  own  people,  they 
were  dear,  good  women,  his  mother  and  sisters — 
saints,  but  not  Pharisees. 

It  was  a  dark  and  lowering  evening,  with  tempest 
gusts  of  wind.  But  from  far  away,  after  he  had 
passed  Ipscombe,  a  light  from  one  of  the  windows 
of  the  farm  shone  out,  as  though  beckoning  him  to 
her.  Suddenly  from  the  mouth  of  the  farm,  he  saw 
a  bicycle  approaching.  The  rider  was  Janet 
Leighton.  She  passed  him  with  a  wave  and  a 
smile. 

"Going  to  a  Food  meeting!  But  Rachel's  at 
home." 

What  a  nice  woman!  Looking  back  over  the 
couple  of  months  since  he  had  known  the  inmates  of 
the  farm,  he  realized  how  much  he  had  come  to  like 
Janet  Leighton.  So  unselfish,  so  full  of  thought  for 
others,  so  modest  for  herself !  There  couldn't  be  a 
better  friend  for  Rachel;  her  friendship  itself  was  a 
testimonial;  he  reassured  himself  by  the  mere 
thought  of  her. 

When  he  drew  up  at  the  farm,  Hastings  with  a 
lantern  in  his  hand  was  just  disappearing  towards 
the  hill,  and  the  two  girls,  Betty  and  Jenny,  passed 
him,  each  with  a  young  man,  two  members,  in  fact, 
of  his  own  Corps,  John  Dempsey  and  another.  They 
explained  that  they  were  off  to  a  Red  Cross  Concert 


HARVEST  181 

in  the  village  hall.  Ellesborough's  pulse  beat 
quicker  as  he  parted  from  them,  for  he  realized  that 
he  would  find  Rachel  alone  in  the  farm. 

Yes,  there  she  was  at  the  open  door,  greeting  him 
with  a  quiet  face — a  smile  even.  She  led  the  way 
into  the  sitting-room,  where  she  had  just  drawn 
down  the  blinds  and  closed  the  curtains  of  the  win- 
dow looking  on  the  farm-yard.  But  his  arrival  had 
interrupted  her  before  she  could  do  the  same  for  the 
window  looking  on  the  Down.  Neither  of  them 
thought  of  it.  Each  was  absorbed  in  the  mere  pres- 
ence of  the  other. 

Rachel  was  in  her  black  Sunday  dress  of  some 
silky  stuff.  Her  throat  was  uncovered,  and  her 
shapely  arms  showed  through  the  thin  sleeves.  The 
black  and  white  softened  and  refined  something  over- 
blown and  sensuous  in  her  beauty.  Her  manner, 
too,  had  lost  its  confident,  provocative  note.  Elles- 
borough  had  never  seen  her  so  adorable,  so  de- 
sirable. But  her  self-command  dictated  his.  He 
took  the  seat  to  which  she  pointed  him;  while  she 
herself  brought  a  chair  to  the  other  side  of  the  fire, 
putting  on  another  log  with  a  steady  hand,  and  a 
remark  about  the  wind  that  was  whistling  outside. 
Then,  one  foot  crossed  over  the  other,  her  cheek 
reddened  by  the  fire,  propped  on  her  hand,  and  her 
eyes  on  the  fresh  flame  that  was  beginning  to  dance 


1 82  HARVEST 

out  of  the  wood,  she  asked  him, — "  You'd  like  to 
hear  it  all?" 

He  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

So  in  a  quiet,  even  voice,  she  began  with  an  ac- 
count of  her  family  and  early  surroundings,  more 
detailed  than  anything  she  had  yet  given  him.  She 
described  her  father  (the  striking  apostolic  head  of 
the  old  man  hung  on  the  wall  behind  her)  and  his 
missionary  journeys  through  the  prairie  settlements 
in  the  early  days  of  Alberta;  how,  when  he  was  old 
and  weary,  he  would  sometimes  take  her,  his  latest 
child,  a  small  girl  of  ten  or  twelve,  on  his  pastoral 
rounds,  for  company,  perched  up  beside  him  in  his 
buggy;  and  how  her  mother  was  killed  by  the  mere 
hardships  of  the  prairie  life,  sinking  into  fretful  in- 
validism  for  two  years  before  her  death. 

"  I  nursed  her  for  years.  I  never  did  anything 
else — I  couldn't.  I  never  had  any  amusements  like 
other  girls.  There  was  no  money  and  no  time.  She 
died  when  I  was  twenty-four.  And  three  months 
after,  my  father  died.  He  didn't  leave  a  penny. 
Then  my  brother  asked  me  to  go  and  live  with  him 
and  his  wife.  I  was  to  have  my  board  and  a  dress 
allowance,  if  I  would  help  her  in  the  house.  My 
brother's  an  awfully  good  sort — but  I  couldn't  get 
on  with  his  wife.  I  just  couldn't!  I  expect  it  was 
my  fault,  just  as  much  as  hers.  It  was  something 


HARVEST  183 

we  couldn't  help.  Very  soon  I  hated  the  sight  of 
her,  and  she  never  missed  a  chance  of  making  me 
feel  a  worm — a  useless,  greedy  creature,  living  on 
other  people's  work.  If  only  there  had  been  some 
children,  I  dare  say  I  could  have  borne  it.  But  she 
and  I  could  never  get  away  from  each  other.  There 
were  no  distractions.  Our  nerves  got  simply  raw — 
at  least  mine  did." 

There  was  a  pause.  She  lifted  her  brown  eyes, 
and  looked  at  Ellesborough  intently. 

"  I  suppose  my  mother  would  have  borne  it.  But 
girls  nowadays  can't.  Not  girls  like  me,  anyway. 
Mother  was  a  Christian.  I  don't  suppose  I  am.  I 
don't  know  what  I  am.  I  just  had  to  live  my  own 
life.-  I  couldn't  exist  without  a  bit  of  pleasure — 
and  being  admired — and  seeing  men — and  all  that !  " 

Her  cheeks  had  flushed.  Her  eyes  were  very 
bright  and  defiant. 

Ellesborough  came  nearer  to  her,  put  out  a  strong 
hand  and  enclosed  hers  in  it. 

"  Well  then- — this  man  Delane — came  to  live  near 
you?" 

He  spoke  with  the  utmost  gentleness,  trying  to 
help  her  out. 

She  nodded,  drawing  her  hand  away. 

"  I  met  him  at  a  dance  in  Winnipeg  first — the  day 
after  I'd  had  a  horrid  row  with  my  sister-in-law. 


1 84  HARVEST 

He'd  just  taken  a  large  farm,  with  a  decent  house 
on  it — not  a  shack — and  everybody  said  his  people 
were  rich  and  were  backing  him.  And  he  was  very 
good-looking — and  a  Cambridge  man — and  all  that. 
We  danced  together  almost  all  the  evening.  Then 
he  found  out  where  I  lived,  and  used  to  be  always 
coming  to  see  me.  My  brother  never  liked  him. 
He  said  to  me  often,  *  Why  do  you  encourage  that 
unprincipled  cad?  I'm  certain  there's  a  screw  loose 
about  him ! '  And  I  wasn't  in  love  with  Roger — 
not  really — for  one  moment.  But  I  think  he  was  in 
love  with  me — yes,  I'm  sure  he  was — at  first.  And 
he  excited  and  interested  me.  I  was  proud,  too, 
of  taking  him  away  from  other  girls,  who  were 
always  running  after  him.  And  my  sister-in-law 
was  just  mad  to  get  rid  of  me!  Don't  you  under- 
stand?" 

"Of  course  I  do !" 

Her  eyelids  wavered  a  little  under  the  emotion 
of  his  tone. 

"  Well,  then,  we  got  married.  My  brother  tried 
to  get  out  of  him  what  his  money-affairs  were. 
But  he  always  evaded  everything.  He  talked  a 
great  deal  about  this  rich  sister,  and  she  did  send 
him  a  wedding  present.  But  he  never  showed  me 
her  letter,  and  that  was  the  last  we  ever  heard  of 
her  while  I  knew  him.  . " 


HARVEST  185 

Her  voice  dropped.  She  sat  looking  at  the  fire — 
a  grey,  pale  woman,  from  whom  light  and  youth 
had  momentarily  gone  out. 

"  Well,  it's  a  hateful  story — and  as  common ! — 
as  common  as  dirt.  We  began  to  quarrel  almost 
immediately.  He  was  jealous  and  tyrannical,  and  I 
always  had  a  quick  temper.  I  found  that  he  drank, 
that  he  told  me  all  sorts  of  lies  about  his  past  life, 
that  he  presently  only  cared  about  me  as — well,  as 
his  mistress !  " — and  again  she  faced  Ellesborough 
with  hard,  insistent  eyes — "  that  he  was  hopelessly 
in  debt — a  gambler — and  everything  else.  When 
the  baby  came,  I  could  only  get  the  wife  of  a  neigh- 
bouring settler  to  come  and  look  after  me.  And 
Roger  behaved  so  abominably  to  her  that  she  went 
home  when  the  baby  was  a  week  old — and  I  was  left 
to  manage  for  myself.  Then  when  baby  was  three 
months  old,  she  caught  whooping-cough,  and  had 
bronchitis  on  the  top.  I  had  a  few  pounds  of  my 
own,  and  I  gave  them  to  Roger  to  go  in  to  Winnipeg 
and  bring  out  a  doctor  and  medicines.  He  drank 
all  the  money  on  the  way — that  I  found  out  after- 
wards— he  was  a  week  away  instead  of  two  days — 
and  the  baby  died.  When  he  came  back  he  told  me 
a  lie  about  having  been  ill.  But  I  never  lived  with 
him — as  a  wife — after  that.  Then,  of  course,  he 
hated  me,  and  one  night  he  nearly  killed  me.  Next 


1 86  HAKVEST 

morning  he  apologized — said  that  he  loved  me  pas- 
sionately— and  that  kind  of  stuff — that  I  was  cruel 
to  him — and  what  could  he  do  to  make  up?  So 
then  I  suggested  that  he  should  go  away  for  a  month 
— and  we  should  both  think  things  over.  He  was 
rather  frightened,  because — well — he'd  knocked  me 
about  a  good  deal  in  the  horrible  scene  between  us 
— and  he  thought  I  should  bring  my  brother  down 
on  him.  So  he  agreed  to  go,  and  I  said  I  would 
have  a  girl  friend  to  stay  with  me.  But,  of  course, 
as  soon  as  he  was  gone,  I  just  left  the  house  and  de- 
parted. I  had  got  evidence  enough  by  then  to  set 
me  free — about  the  Italian  girl.  I  met  my  brother 
in  Winnipeg.  We  went  to  his  lawyers  together,  and 

I  began  proceedings " 

She  stopped  abruptly.  "  The  rest  I  told  you. — 
No! — I've  told  you  the  horrible  things — now  I'll 
say  something  of  the  things  which — have  made  life 
worth  living  again.  Till  the  divorce  was  settled  I 
went  back  to  my  brother  in  Toronto.  I  dropped  my 
married  name  then  and  called  myself  Henderson. 
And  then  I  came  home — because  my  mother's 
brother,  who  was  a  manufacturer  in  Bradford,  wrote 
to  ask  me.  But  when  I  arrived  he  was  dead,  and 
he  had  left  me  three  thousand  pounds.  Then  I  went 
to  Swanley  and  got  trained  for  farm-work.  And  I 
found  Janet  Leighton,  and  we  made  friends.  And 
I  love  farm-work — and  I  love  Janet — and  the  whole 


HARVEST  187 

world  looks  so  different  to  me !  Why,  of  course,  I 
didn't  want  to  be  reminded  of  that  old  horrible  life ! 
I  didn't  want  people  to  say,  *  Mrs.  Delane  ?  Who 
and  where  is  her  husband?  Is  he  dead?'  *  No — 
she's  divorced.'  'Why?'  There's! — don't  you 
see  ? — all  the  old  vile  business  over  again !  So  I  cut 
it  all!" 

She  paused — resuming  in  another  voice — hesitat- 
ing and  uncertain, — 

"  And  yet — it  seems — you  can't  do  a  simple  thing 
like  that  without — hurting  somebody — injuring 
somebody.  I  can't  help  it !  I  didn't  mean  to  deceive 
you.  But  I  had  a  right  to  get  free  from  the  old  life 
if  I  could!" 

She  threw  back  her  head  proudly.  Her  eyes  were 
full  of  tears.  Then  she  rose  impetuously. 

"  There ! — I've  told  you.  I  suppose  you  don't 
want  to  be  friends  with  me  any  more.  It  was  rotten 
of  me,  I  know,  for,  of  course — I  saw — you  seemed 
to  be  getting  to  care  for  me.  I  told  Janet  when  we 
set  up  work  together  that  I  wasn't  a  bad  woman. 
And  I'm  not.  But  I'm  weak.  You'd  better  not  trust 
me.  And  besides — I  fell  into  the  mud — and  I  ex- 
pect it  sticks  to  me  still !  " 

She  spoke  with  passionate  animation — almost 
fierceness.  While  through  her  inner  mind  there  ran 
the  thought,  "  I've  told  him ! — I've  told  him !  If  he 
doesn't  understand,  it's  not  my  fault.  I  can  always 


1 88  HARVEST 

say,  '  I  did  tell  you — about  Roger — and  the  rest! — 
as  much  as  I  was  bound  to  tell  you.'  Why  should 
I  make  him  miserable — and  destroy  my  own  chances 
with  him  for  nothing?" 

They  stood  fronting  each  other.  Over  the  fine 
bronzed  face  of  the  forester  there  ran  a  ripple  of 
profound  emotion — nostril  and  lip — and  eye.  Then 
she  found  herself  in  his  arms — with  no  power  to  re- 
sist or  free  herself.  Two  or  three  deep,  involuntary 
sobs — sobs  of  excitement — shook  her,  as  she  felt 
his  kisses  on  her  cheek. 

"  Darling ! — I'll  try  and  make  up  to  you — for  all 
you've  suffered.  Poor  child! — poor  little  Rachel!  " 

She  clung  to  him,  a  great  wave  of  passion  sweep- 
ing through  her  also.  She  thought,  "  Now  I  shall 
be  happy! — and  I  shall  make  him  happy,  too.  Of 
course  I  shall ! — I'm  doing  quite  right." 

Presently  he  put  her  back  in  her  chair,  and  sat 
beside  her  on  the  low  fender  stool,  in  front  of  the 
fire.  His  aspect  was  completely  transformed.  The 
triumphant  joy  which  filled  him  had  swept  away  the 
slightly  stiff  and  reserved  manner  which  was  on  the 
whole  natural  to  him.  And  it  had  swept  away  at 
tke  same  time  all  the  doubts  and  hesitations  of  his 
inner  mind.  She  had  told  her  story,  it  seemed  to 
him,  with  complete  frankness,  and  a  humility  which 
appealed  to  all  that  was  chivalrous  and  generous  in 


HARVEST  189 

a  strong  man.  He  was  ready  now  to  make  more  ex- 
cuses for  her,  in  the  matter  of  his  own  misleading, 
than  she  seemed  to  wish  to  make  for  herself.  How 
natural  that  she  should  act  as  she  had  acted !  The 
thought  of  her  suffering,  of  her  ill-treatment  was  in- 
tolerable to  him — and  of  the  brute  who  had  in- 
flicted it. 

"  Do  you  know  where  that  man  is  now?  "  he  said 
to  her  presently.  She  had  fallen  back  in  her  chair — 
pale  and  shaken,  but  dressed,  for  his  eyes,  in  a  loveli- 
ness, a  pathos,  that  was  every  moment  strengthening 
her  hold  upon  him. 

"  Roger?  No,  I  have  no  idea.  I  always  suppose 
he's  in  Canada  still.  He  never  appeared  when  the 
case  was  tried.  But  the  summons  had  to  be  served 
on  him,  and  my  lawyers  succeeded  in  tracking  him 
to  a  lodging  in  Calgary,  where  he  was  living — with 
the  Italian  girl.  But  after  that  we  never  heard  any 
more  of  him — except  that  I  had  a  little  pencil  note 
— unsigned,  undated,  delivered  by  hand — just  before 
the  trial  came  on.  It  said  I  should  repent  casting 
him  off — that  I  had  treated  him  shamefully— that  I 
was  a  vile  woman — and  though  I  had  got  the  better 
of  him  for  the  time,  he  would  have  his  revenge  be- 
fore long." 

Ellesborough  shrugged  his  shoulders  contemptu- 
ously. 


190  HARVEST 

"  Threats  are  cheap !  I  hope  you  soon  put  that 
out  of  your  mind?" 

She  made  a  little  restless  movement. 

"  Yes,  I — I  suppose  so.  But  I  did  tell  you  once, 
didn't  I,  that — I  often  had  fears — about  nothing?  " 

"  Yes,  you  did  tell  me,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  Don't 
have  any  more  fears,  darling!  I'll  see  to  that." 

He  took  her  hands  again,  and  raised  them  to  his 
lips  and  kissed  them.  It  astonished  him  to  feel  them 
so  cold,  and  see  her  again  so  excited  and  pale.  Was 
she  really  afraid  of  the  villain  she  had  escaped 
from?  The  dear,  foolish  woman!  The  man  in  his 
self-confident  strength  loved  her  the  more  for  the 
vague  terrors  he  felt  himself  so  well  able  to  soothe. 

For  half  an  hour  more  they  sat  together,  in  that 
first  intimacy  of  love,  which  transfigures  men  and 
women,  so  that  when  they  pass  back  from  it  into 
ordinary  life  they  scarcely  recognize  life  or  them- 
selves again.  They  talked  much  less  of  the  past 
than  of  the  future — and  that  in  the  light  of  the 
glorious  war  news  coming  in  day  by  day.  Austria 
was  on  the  point  of  surrender — the  German  land- 
slide might  come  at  any  moment — then  peace! — 
incredible  word.  Ellesborough  would  hardly  now 
get  to  France.  They  might  be  able  to  marry  soon 
— within  a  few  weeks.  As  to  the  farm,  he  asked 
her,  laughing,  whether  she  would  take  him  in  as  a 


HARVEST  ;i9i 

junior  partner  for  a  time,  till  they  could  settle  their 
plans.  "  I've  got  a  bit  of  money  of  my  own.  But 
first  you  must  let  me  go  back,  as  soon  as  there  are 
ships  to  go  in — to  see  after  my  own  humble  business. 
We  could  launch  out — get  some  fine  stock — try  ex- 
periments. It's  a  going  concern,  and  I've  got  a  good 
share  in  it.  Why  shouldn't  you  go,  too?  " 

He  saw  her  shrink. 

"To  Canada?    Oh,  no!" 

He  scourged  himself  mentally  for  having  taken 
her  thoughts  back  to  the  old  unhappy  times.  But 
she  soon  recovered  herself.  Then  it  was  time  for 
him  to  go,  and  he  stood  up. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  seen  Janet!  "  he  said  joy- 
ously. "  She'll  have  to  get  used  to  Christian  names. 
How  soon  will  you  tell  her?  Directly  she 
comes  in?  " 

"  Certainly  not.  I  shall  wait — till  to-morrow 
morning." 

He  laughed,  whispering  into  her  ear,  as  her  soft, 
curly  head  lay  against  his  breast. 

'  You  won't  wait  ten  minutes — you  couldn't ! 
Well,  I  must  be  going,  or  they'll  shut  me  out  of  the 
camp." 

"  Why  do  you  hurry  so?  " 

"  Hurry?  Why,  I  shall  be  an  hour  late,  anyway. 
I  shall  have  to  give  myself  C.B.  to-morrow." 


i92  HARVEST 

She  laughed — a  sound  of  pure  content.  Then  she 
suddenly  drew  herself  away,  frowning  at  him. 

"  You  do  love  me — you  do — you  will  always ! — 
whatever  people  may  say?" 

He  was  surprised  at  the  note  almost  of  violence 
in  her  voice.  He  answered  it  by  a  passionate  caress, 
which  she  bore  with  trembling.  Then  she  resolutely 
moved  away. 

"  Do  go !  "  she  said  to  him,  imploringly.  "  I'd 
like  to  be  a  few  minutes — alone — before  they  come 
back." 

He  saw  her  settle  herself  by  the  fire,  her  hands 
stretched  out  to  the  blaze.  Seeing  that  the  fire  was 
low,  and  remembering  the  chill  of  her  hands  in  his, 
he  looked  around  for  the  wood-basket  which  was 
generally  kept  in  a  corner  behind  the  piano. 

His  movement  was  suddenly  arrested.  He  was 
looking  towards  the  uncurtained  window.  The  night 
had  grown  pitch  dark  outside,  and  there  were 
splashes  of  rain  against  the  glass.  But  he  distinctly 
saw  as  he  turned  a  man's  face  pressed  against  the 
glass — a  strained,  sallow  face,  framed  in  straggling 
black  hair,  a  face  with  regular  features,  and  eyes 
deeply  set  in  blackened  orbits.  It  was  a  face  of 
hatred;  the  lips  tightly  drawn  over  the  teeth,  seemed 
to  have  a  curse  on  them. 

The  vision  lasted  only  a  moment.    Ellesborough's 


HARVEST  193 

trained  instinct,  the  wary  instinct  of  the  man  who 
had  passed  days  and  nights  with  nature  in  her  wilder 
and  lonelier  places,  checked  the  exclamation  on  his 
lips.  And  before  he  could  move  again,  the  face  had 
disappeared.  The  old  holly  bush  growing  against 
the  farm  wall,  from  which  the  apparition  seemed  to 
have  sprung,  was  still  there,  some  of  its  glossy 
leaves  visible  in  the  bright  light  of  the  paraffin  lamp 
which  stood  on  the  table  near  the  window.  And 
there  was  nothing  else. 

Ellesborough  quietly  walked  to  the  window,  drew 
down  the  blind,  and  pulled  the  curtains  together. 
Rachel  looked  around  at  the  sound. 

"  Didn't  I  do  that?"  she  said,  half  dreamily. 

"  We  forgot !  "  He  smiled  at  her.  "  Now  it's 
all  cosy.  Ah,  there  they  are !  Perhaps  I'll  get  Janet 
to  come  as  far  as  the  road  with  me."  For  voices 
were  approaching — Janet  talking  to  the  girls. 
Rachel  looked  up,  assenting.  The  colour  had  rushed 
back  to  her  face.  Ellesborough  took  in  the  picture 
of  her,  sitting  unconscious  by  the  fire,  while  his  own 
pulse  was  thumping  under  the  excitement  of  what  he 
had  seen. 

With  a  last  word  to  her,  he  closed  the  sitting- 
room  door  behind  him,  and  went  out  to  meet  Janet 
Leighton  in  the  dark. 


IX 


IT  was  a  foggy  October  evening,  and  Berkeley 
Square,  from  which  the  daylight  had  not  yet 
departed,  made  a  peculiarly  dismal  impression 
on  the  passers-by,  under  the  mingled  illumination  of 
its  half-blinded  lamps,  and  of  a  sunset  which  in  the 
country  was  clear  and  golden,  and  here  in  west  Lon- 
don could  only  give  a  lurid  coppery  tinge  to  the 
fog,  to  the  eastern  house-fronts,  and  to  the  great 
plane-trees  holding  the  Square  garden,  like  giants 
encamped.  Landsowne  House,  in  its  lordly  seclu- 
sion frcm  the  rest  of  the  Square,  seemed  specially 
to  have  gathered  the  fog  to  itself,  and  was  almost 
lost  from  sight.  Not  a  ray  of  light  escaped  the 
closely-shuttered  windows.  The  events  of  the 
mensis  mirabilis  were  rushing  on.  Bulgaria,  Aus- 
tria, Turkey,  had  laid  down  their  arms — the  Ger- 
man cry  for  an  armistice  had  rung  through  Europe. 
But  still  London  lay  dark  and  muffled.  Her  peril 
was  not  yet  over. 

In  the  drawing-room  of  one  of  the  houses  on  the 
eastern  side,  belonging  to  a  Warwickshire  baronet 
and  M.P. — Sir  Richard  Winton  by  name — a  lady 

194 


HARVEST  195 

was  standing  in  front  of  a  thrifty  fire,  which  in  view 
of  the  coal  restrictions  of  the  moment,  she  had  been 
very  unwilling  to  light  at  all.  The  restrictions  irri- 
tated her;  so  did  the  inevitable  cold  of  the  room; 
and  most  of  all  was  she  annoyed  and  harassed  by 
the  thought  of  a  visitor  who  might  appear  at  any 
moment.  She  was  tall,  well-made,  and  plain.  One 
might  have  guessed  her  age  at  about  thirty-five.  She 
had  been  out  in  the  earlier  afternoon,  attending  a 
war  meeting  on  behalf  of  some  charities  in  which 
she  was  interested,  and  she  had  not  yet  removed  a 
high  and  stately  hat  with  two  outstanding  wings  and 
much  jet  ornament,  which  she  had  worn  at  the  meet- 
ing, to  the  huge  indignation  of  her  neighbours.  The 
black  of  her  silk  dress  was  lightened  by  a  rope  of 
pearls,  and  various  diamond  trinkets.  Her  dress 
fitted  her  to  perfection.  Competence  and  will  were 
written  in  her  small,  shrewd  eyes  and  in  the  play 
of  a  decided  mouth. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  At  Lady  Win- 
ton's  "  Come  in !  "  a  stout,  elderly  maid  appeared. 
She  came  up  to  her  mistress,  and  said  in  a  lowered 
voice, — 

"  You'll  see  Mr.  Roger  here?  " 

14  Why,  I  told  you  so,  Nannie !  "  was  the  im- 
patient answer.  "Is  everybody  out  of  the  way?" 

The  maid  explained  that  all  was  ready.     Jones 


[196  HARVEST 

the  butler  had  been  sent  with  a  note  to  the  City, 
and  the  housemaid  was  sitting  with  the  kitchen-maid, 
who  was  recovering  from  the  flu. 

11 1  told  them  I'd  answer  the  bell.  And  I'll  keep 
an  eye  that  no  one  comes  down  before  he's  gone. 
There  he  is !  " 

For  the  bell  had  rung,  and  the  maid  hastened  to 
the  hall  door  to  answer  it. 

A  tall  man  entered — coughing. 

"  Beastly  night,  Nannie !  "  he  said,  as  soon  as 
the  cough  would  let  him.  "  Don't  suit  my  style. 
tWell? — how  are  you?  Had  the  flu.,  like  everybody 
else?" 

"  Not  yet,  Mr.  Roger — though  it's  been  going 
through  the  house.  Shall  I  take  your  coat?  " 

'  You'd  better  not.    I'm  too  shabby  underneath." 

"  Sir  Richard's  in  the  country,  Mr.  Roger." 

"  Oh,  so  her  ladyship's  alone?  Well,  that's  how 
I  generally  find  her,  isn't  it?  " 

But  Nannie — with  her  eye  on  the  stairs — was  not 
going  to  allow  him  any  lingering  in  the  hall.  She 
led  him  quickly  to  the  drawing-room,  opened  it,  and 
closed  it  behind  him.  Then  she  herself  retreated 
into  a  small  smoking-den  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
hall,  and  sat  there,  without  a  light,  with  the  door 
open — watching. 

Roger  Delane  instinctively  straightened  himself 


HARVEST  197 

to  his  full  height  as  he  entered  his  sister's  drawing- 
room.  His  overcoat,  though  much  worn,  was  of  an 
expensive  make  and  cut;  he  carried  the  Malacca  cane 
which  had  been  his  companion  in  the  Brookshire 
roads ;  and  the  eyeglass  that  he  adjusted  as  he  caught 
sight  of  his  sister  completed  the  general  effect  of 
shabby  fashion.  His  manner  was  jaunty  and 
defiant. 

'  Well,  Marianne,"  he  said,  pausing  some  yards 
from  her.  "  You  don't  seem  particularly  glad  to  see 
me.  Hullo ! — has  Dick  been  buying  some  more 
china?" 

And  before  his  sister  could  say  anything,  he  had 
walked  over  to  a  table  covered  with  various  bric- 
a-brac,  where,  taking  up  a  fine  Nankin  vase,  he 
looked  closely  at  the  marks  on  its  base. 

Lady  Winton  flushed  with  anger. 

"  I  think  you  had  better  leave  the  china  alone, 
Roger.  I  have  only  got  a  very  few  minutes.  What 
do  you  want?  Money,  I  suppose — as  usual!  And 
yet  I  warned  you  in  my  last  letter  that  you  would 
do  this  kind  of  thing  once  too  often,  and  that  we 
were  not  going  to  put  up  with  it!  "  She  struck  the 
table  beside  her  with  her  glove. 

Delane  put  down  the  china  and  surveyed  her. 

*  The  vase  is  Ming  all  right — better  stuff  than 
Dick  generally  buys.  I  congratulate  him.  Well, 


198  HARVEST 

I'm  sorry  for  you,  my  dear  Marianne — but  you  are 
my  sister — and  you  can't  help  yourself  1 " 

He  looked  at  her,  half-smiling,  with  a  quiet 
bravado  which  enraged  her. 

"  Don't  talk  like  that,  Roger !  Tell  me  directly 
what  it  is  you  want.  You  seem  to  think  you  can 
force  me  to  see  you  at  any  time,  whatever  I  may  be 
doing.  But " 

*  Your  last  letter  was  *  a  bit  thick  ' — you  see — it 
provoked  me,"  said  Delane  calmly.  "  Of  course 
you  can  get  the  police  to  chuck  me  out  if  you  like. 
,You  would  be  quite  in  your  rights.  But  I  imagine 
the  effect  on  the  aristocratic  nerves  of  Berkeley 
Square  would  be  amusing.  However " 

He  looked  round  him — 

11  As  Carlyle  said  to  the  old  Queen,  '  I'm  getting 
old,  madam,  and  with  your  leave  I'll  take  a 
chair '  " 

He  pushed  an  arm-chair  forward. 

"  And  let  me  make  up  the  fire.  It's  beginning  to 
freeze  outside." 

Lady  Winton  moved  quickly  to  the  fireplace,  hold- 
ing out  a  prohibiting  hand. 

'  There  is  quite  enough  fire,  thank  you.  I  am 
going  out  presently." 

Delane  sat  down,  and  extended  a  pair  of  still 
shapely  feet  to  the  slender  flame  in  the  grate. 


HARVEST  199 

"  Dick's  boots !  "  he  said,  tapping  them  with  his 
cane,  and  looking  round  at  his  sister.  "  What  a  lot 
of  wear  I've  got  out  of  them  since  he  threw  them 
away!  His  overcoat,  too.  And  now  that  it's  the 
thing  to  be  shabby,  Dick's  clothes  are  really  a  god- 
send. I  defraud  Jones.  But  I  have  no  doubt  that 
Jones  gets  a  good  deal  more  than  is  good  for  him." 

"  Look  here,  Roger ! — suppose  you  stop  talking 
this  nonsense  and  come  to  business,"  said  Marianne 
Winton,  in  pale  exasperation.  "  I've  sent  Jones  out 
with  a  note — but  he'll  be  back  directly.  And  I've 
got  an  appointment.  What  are  you  doing?  Have 
you  got  any  work  to  do?  " 

She  took  a  seat  not  far  from  her  brother,  who 
perceived  from  her  tone  that  he  had  perhaps  gone 
as  far  as  was  prudent. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,  I've  got  no  work  to  do,"  he  said, 
smiling.  '  That's  not  a  commodity  that  comes  my 
way.  But  I  must  somehow  manage  to  keep  a  roof 
over  Anita  and  the  child.  So  what  can  I  do  but 
count  on  your  assistance,  my  dear?  My  father  left 
you  a  great  deal  of  money  which  in  equity  belonged 
to  me — and  I  am  bound  to  remind  you  of  it." 

'  You  know  very  well  why  he  left  you  so  little !  " 
said  Lady  Winton.  :i  We  needn't  go  into  that  old 
story.  I  ask  you  again,  what  do  you  want?"  She 
took  out  her  watch.  "  I  have  just  ten  minutes." 


200  HARVEST 

"What  do  I  want?"  He  looked  at  her  with  a 
slow,  whimsical  laugh.  "  Money,  my  dear,  money! 
Money  means  everything  that  I  must  have — food, 
coals,  clothes,  doctor,  chemist,  buses — decent  house- 
room  for  Anita  and  myself " 

A  shiver  of  revulsion  ran  through  his  sister. 

"  Have  you  married  that  woman?  " 

He  laughed. 

"  As  you  seemed  to  think  it  desirable,  Anita  and 
I  did  take  a  trip  to  a  Registry  Office  about  a  month 
ago.  It's  all  lawful  now — except  for  our  abominable 
English  law  that  doesn't  legitimize  the  children. 
But " — he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  movement  which 
startled  her — "  whom  do  you  think  I've  seen 
lately?" 

His  sister  stared  at  him,  amazed  at  the  change  in 
him — the  animation,  the  rush  of  colour  in  the  hollow, 
emaciated  face. 

"  Rachel! — my  wife — my  former — precious — 
wife.  I  thought  she  was  in  Canada.  No  doubt  she 
thought  the  same  of  me.  But  I've  stumbled  upon 
her  quite  by  chance — living  close  to  the  place  where 
I  had  taken  lodgings  for  Anita  and  the  babe,  in 
September,  in  case  there  were  more  raids  this  winter. 
What  do  you  think  of  that?  " 

"  It  doesn't  interest  me  at  all,"  said  Lady  Winton 
coldly. 


HARVEST  201 

"  Then  you  have  no  dramatic  sense,  my  dear. 
Just  think !  I  stroll  out,  for  want  of  anything  better 
to  do,  with  Anita,  into  the  market-place  of  a  beastly 
little  country  town,  to  see  a  silly  sort  of  show — a 
mixture  of  a  Harvest  Festival  and  a  Land  Girls' 
beano — when  without  a  moment's  warning — stand- 
ing up  in  a  decorated  wagon — I  behold — Rachel! — 
handsomer  than  ever! — in  a  kind  of  khaki  dress — 
tunic,  breeches,  and  leggings — enormously  becom- 
ing ! — and,  of  course,  the  observed  of  all  observers. 
More  than  that! — I  perceive  a  young  man,  in  an 
American  uniform,  dancing  attendance  upon  her — 
taking  her  orders — walking  her  off  to  church — Oh,  a 
perfectly  clear  case  !• — no  doubt  about  it  at  all.  And 
there  I  stood — within  a  few  yards  of  her — and  she 
never  saw  me !  " 

He  broke  off,  staring  at  his  sister — a  wild,  ex- 
ultant look — which  struck  her  uncomfortably.  Her 
face  showed  her  arrested,  against  her  will. 

"Are  you  sure  she  didn't  see  you?" 

"  Sure.  I  put  the  child  on  my  shoulder,  and  hid 
behind  her.  Besides — my  dear — even  Rachel  might 
find  it  difficult  to  recognize  her  discarded  husband — - 
in  this  individual!  " 

He  tapped  his  chest  lightly.  Lady  Winton  could 
not  withdraw  her  own  eyes  from  him.  Yes,  it  was 
quite  true.  The  change  in  him  was  shocking — 


202  HARVEST 

ghastly.  He  had  brought  it  entirely  on  himself. 
But  she  could  not  help  saying,  in  a  somewhat  milder 
tone, — 

"  Have  you  seen  that  doctor  again?  " 

"To  whom  you  so  obligingly  sent  me?  Yes,  I 
saw  him  yesterday.  One  lung  seems  to  have  finally 
struck  work — caput!  as  the  Germans  say.  The  other 
will  last  a  bit  longer  yet." 

A  fit  of  coughing  seized  him.  His  sister  instinct- 
ively moved  farther  away  from  him,  looking  at  him 
with  frightened  and  hostile  eyes. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  had 
found  his  voice  again,  "  I'm  drenched  in  disin- 
fectant. I  take  all  proper  precautions — for  the 
child's  sake.  Now  then  " — he  rose  with  an  effort 
to  his  feet — "  what  are  you  going  to  do  for 
me?" 

His  aspect  had  altered,  had  assumed  a  sinister 
and  passionate  intensity.  His  sister  was  conscious 
of  the  menace  in  it,  and  hastily  taking  up  a  small 
hand-bag  lying  near  her,  she  produced  a  purse 
from  it. 

"  I  have  saved  twenty  pounds  for  you — out  of 
my  own  money — with  great  difficulty,"  she  said, 
with  indignant  emphasis.  "  If  I  were  to  tell  Rich- 
ard, he  would  be  furious.  And  I  cannot — do — any- 
thing— more  for  you,  beyond  the  allowance  I  give 


HARVEST  203 

you.  Everything  you  suffer  from,  you  have  brought 
upon  yourself.  It  is  hopeless  to  try  and  help 
you." 

He  laughed. 

"Well,  then,  I  must  try  Rachel!  "  he  said  care- 
lessly, as  he  looked  for  his  hat. 

"  That  I  think  would  be  the  lowest  depth!  "  said 
Lady  Winton,  breathing  quick,  u  to  beg  money  from 
the  wife  who  divorced  you !  " 

"  I  am  ready  to  beg  for  money — requisition  is  the 
better  word — from  anybody  in  the  world  who  has 
more  of  it  than  I.  I  am  a  Bolshevist.  You  needn't 
talk  to  me  about  property,  or  rights.  I  don't 
acknowledge  them.  I  want  something  that  you've 
got,  and  I  haven't.  I  shall  take  it  if  I  find  the  op- 
portunity— civilly  if  I  can,  uncivilly,  if  I  must." 

Lady  Winton  made  no  reply.  She  stood,  a  statue 
of  angry  patience  waiting  for  him  to  go.  He  slowly 
buttoned  on  his  coat,  and  then  stepped  coolly  across 
the  room  to  look  at  an  enlarged  photograph  of  a 
young  soldier  standing  on  the  piano. 

"  Handsome  chap !  You're  in  luck,  Marianne.  I 
suppose  you  managed  to  get  him  into  a  staff  job  of 
some  sort,  out  of  harm's  way?  " 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  sneer  on  his  lips.  His 
sister  was  still  silent. 

The  man  moving  about  the  room  was  perhaps 


204  HARVEST 

the  thing  she  feared  and  hated  most  in  the  world. 
Every  scene  of  this  kind — and  he  forced  them  on 
her,  in  spite  of  her  futile  resistance,  at  fairly  frequent 
intervals — represented  to  her  an  hour  of  torture  and 
humiliation.  How  to  hide  the  scenes  and  the  being 
who  caused  them,  from  her  husband,  her  servants, 
her  friends,  was  becoming  almost  her  chief  preoccu- 
pation. She  was  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  her 
brother.  For  some  time  she  had  regarded  him  as 
incipiently  insane,  and  as  she  watched  him  this  eve- 
ning he  seemed  to  her  more  than  ever  charged  with 
sinister  possibilities.  It  appeared  to  be  impossible 
to  influence  or  frighten  him;  and  she  realized  that 
as  he  seemed  not  to  care  a  fig  whether  she  caused  a 
scandal  or  not,  and  she  cared  with  every  pulse  of 
her  being,  she  was  really  in  his  power,  and  it  was  no 
good  struggling. 

"  Well,  good-night,  Edith,"  he  said  at  last,  taking 
up  his  hat.  "  This'll  last  for  a  bit — but  not  very 
long,  I  warn  you — prices  being  what  they  are.  Oh, 
by  the  way,  my  name  just  now  is  Wilson — make  a 
note  of  it!  " 

"What's  that  for?"  she  said  disdainfully. 

"  Some  Canadian  creditors  of  mine  got  wind  of 
me — worse  luck.  I  had  to  change  my  quarters,  and 
drop  the  old  name — for  a  bit.  However — what's 
in  a  name?  "  He  laughed,  and  held  out  his  hand. 


HARVEST  205 

"  Going  to  shake  hands,  Edie?  You  used  to  be 
awfully  fond  of  me,  when  you  were  small." 

She  stood,  apparently  unmoved,  her  hands 
hanging.  The  pathetic  note  had  been  tried  on  her 
too  often. 

"  Good-night,  Roger.  Nannie  will  show  you 
out." 

The  door  closed  on  him,  and  Lady  Winton 
dropped  on  a  sofa  by  the  fire,  her  face  showing 
white  and  middle-aged  in  the  firelight.  She  was  just 
an  ordinary  woman,  only  with  a  stronger  will  than 
most;  and  as  an  ordinary  woman,  amid  all  her  anger 
and  fear,  she  was  not  wholly  proof  against  such  a 
spectacle  as  that  now  presented  by  her  once  favour- 
ite brother.  It  was  not  his  words  that  affected  her 
— but  a  hundred  little  personal  facts  which  every 
time  she  saw  him  burnt  a  little  more  deeply  into  her 
consciousness  the  irreparableness  of  his  personal 
ruin — physical  and  moral.  Idleness,  drink,  disease 
— the  loss  of  shame,  of  self-respect,  of  manners — 
the  sense  of  something  vital  gone  for  ever — all  these 
fatal  things  stared  out  upon  her,  from  his  slippery 
emaciated  face,  his  borrowed  clothes,  his  bullying 
voice — the  scent  on  him  of  the  mews  in  which  he 
lived! 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  cried  a 
little.  She  could  remember  when  he  was  the  darling 


206  HARVEST 

and  pride  of  the  family — especially  of  his  father. 
How  had  it  happened?  He  had  said  to  her  once, 
"  There  must  have  been  a  black  drop  somewhere  in 
our  forbears,  Edie.  It  has  reappeared  in  me.  We 
are  none  of  us  responsible,  my  dear,  for  our  precious 
selves.  I  may  be  a  sinner  and  a  loafer — but  that 
benevolent  Almighty  of  yours  made  me." 

That  was  wicked  stuff,  of  course;  but  there  had 
been  a  twist  in  him  from  the  beginning.  Had  she 
done  her  best  for  him?  There  were  times  when  her 
conscience  pricked  her. 

The  clock  struck  seven.  The  sound  brought  her 
to  her  feet.  She  must  go  and  dress.  Richard  would 
be  home  directly,  and  they  were  dining  out,  to  meet 
a  distinguished  General,  in  London  for  a  few  days' 
leave  from  the  front.  Dick  must,  of  course,  know 
nothing  of  Roger's  visit;  and  she  must  hurriedly  go 
and  look  up  the  distinguished  General's  career  in 
case  she  had  to  sit  next  him.  Vehemently  she  put 
the  preceding  hour  out  of  her  mind.  The  dinner- 
party to  which  she  was  going  flattered  her  vanity. 
It  turned  her  cold  to  think  that  Roger  might  some 
day  do  something  which  would  damage  that  "  posi- 
tion "  which  she  had  built  up  for  herself  and  her 
husband,  by  ten  years'  careful  piloting  of  their  joint 
lives.  She  knew  she  was  called  a  "  climber."  She 
knew  also  that  she  had  "  climbed  "  successfully,  and 


HARVEST  207 

that  it  was  Roger's  knowledge  of  the  fact,  combined 
with  a  horrid  recklessness  which  seemed  to  be 
growing  in  him,  that  made  the  danger  of  the  situ- 
ation. 

Meanwhile  Delane  stepped  out  into  the  fog, 
which,  however,  was  lifting  a  little.  He  made  his 
way  down  into  Piccadilly,  which  was  crowded  with 
folk,  men  and  women  hurrying  home  from  their  of- 
fices, and  besieging  the  omnibuses — with  hundreds 
of  soldiers  too,  most  of  them  with  a  girl  beside  them, 
and  smart  young  officers  of  every  rank  and  service — 
while  the  whole  scene  breathed  an  animation  and 
excitement,  which  meant  a  common  consciousness,  in 
the  crowd,  of  great  happenings.  All  along  the 
street  were  men  with  newspapers,  showing  the  head- 
lines to  passers-by.  "  President  Wilson's  answer  to 
the  German  appeal  expected  to-morrow."  '  The 
British  entry  into  Lille." 

Delane  bought  an  Evening  News,  glanced  at  the 
headlines,  and  threw  it  away.  What  did  the  war 
matter  to  him? — or  the  new  world  that  fools  sup- 
posed to  be  coming  after  it?  Consumptives  had  a 
way,  no  doubt,  of  living  longer  than  people  expected 
— or  hoped.  Still,  he  believed  that  a  couple  of  years 
or  so  would  see  him  out.  And  that  being  so,  he  felt 
a  kind  of  malignant  indifference  towards  this  push- 


208  HARVEST 

ing,  chattering  world,  aimlessly  going  about  its  silly 
business,  as  though  there  were  any  real  interest  or 
importance  in  it. 

Then,  as  he  drifted  with  the  crowd,  he  found 
himself  caught  in  a  specially  dense  bit  of  it,  which 
had  gathered  round  some  fallen  horses.  A  thin  slip 
of  a  girl  beside  him,  who  was  attempting  to  get 
through  the  crush,  was  roughly  elbowed  by  a  burly 
artilleryman  determined  to  see  the  show.  She  pro- 
tested angrily,  and  Delane  suddenly  felt  angry,  too. 
"  You  brute,  you, — let  the  lady  pass!  "  he  called  to 
the  soldier,  who  turned  with  a  grin,  and  was  instantly 
out  of  reach  and  sight.  "  Take  my  arm,"  said  De- 
lane  to  the  girl — "  Where  are  you  going?  "  The 
little  thing  looked  up — hesitated — and  took  his  arm. 
"  I'm  going  to  get  a  bus  at  the  Circus."  "  All  right 
I'll  see  you  there."  She  laughed  and  flushed,  and 
they  walked  on  together.  Delane  looked  at  her 
with  curiosity.  High  cheek-bones — a  red  spot  of 
colour  on  them — a  sharp  chin — small,  emaciated 
features,  and  beautiful  deep  eyes.  Phthisical ! — like 
himself — poor  little  wretch!  He  found  out  that 
she  was  a  waitress  in  a  cheap  eating-house,  and  had 
very  long  hours.  "  Jolly  good  pay,  though,  com- 
pared to  what  it  used  to  be !  Why,  with  tips,  on  a 
good  day,  I  can  make  seven  and  eight  shillings. 
That's  good,  ain't  it?  'And  now  the  war's  goin'  to 


HARVEST  209 

stop.  Do  you  think  I  want  it  to  stop?  I  don't 
think!  Me  and  my  sister'll  be  starvin'  again,  I 
suppose?" 

He  found  out  she  was  an  orphan,  living  with  her 
sister,  who  was  a  typist,  in  Kentish  town.  But  she 
refused  to  tell  him  her  address,  which  he  idly  asked 
her.  "  What  did  you  want  with  it?  "  she  said,  with 
a  sudden  frown.  "  I'm  straight,  I  am.  There's 
my  bus!  Night!  night! — So  long!"  And  with  a 
half-sarcastic  wave  of  her  tiny  hand,  she  left  him, 
and  was  soon  engulfed  in  the  swirl  round  a  north- 
bound bus. 

He  wandered  on  along  Regent  Street,  and  Water- 
loo Place,  down  the  Duke  of  York's  steps  into  the 
Mall,  where  some  captured  guns  were  already  in 
position,  with  children  swarming  about  them;  and  so 
through  St.  James's  Park  to  the  Abbey.  The  fog 
was  now  all  but  clear,  and  there  were  frosty  stars 
overhead.  The  Abbey  towers  rose  out  of  a  purple 
haze,  etherially  pale  and  moon-touched.  The  House 
of  Commons  was  sitting,  but  there  was  still  no  light 
on  the  Clock  Tower,  and  no  unmuffling  of  the  lamps. 
London  was  waiting,  as  the  world  was  waiting,  for 
the  next  step  in  the  vast  drama  which  had  three  con- 
tinents for  its  setting;  and  meanwhile,  save  for  the 
added  movements  in  the  streets,  and  a  new  some- 
thing in  the  faces  of  the  crowds  hurrying  along  the 


210  HARVEST 

pavements,  there  was  nothing  to  show  that  all  was  in 
fact  over,  and  the  war  won. 

Delane  followed  a  stream  of  people  entering  the 
Abbey  through  the  north  transept.  He  was  carried 
on  by  them,  till  a  verger  showed  him  into  a  seat  near 
the  choir,  and  he  mechanically  obeyed,  and  dropped 
on  his  knees. 

When  he  rose  from  them,  the  choir  was  filing  in, 
and  the  vergers  with  their  pokers  were  escorting  the 
officiating  Canon  to  his  seat.  Delane  had  not  been 
inside  a  church  for  two  or  three  years,  and  it  was  a 
good  deal  more  since  he  had  stood  last  in  West- 
minster Abbey.  But  as  he  watched  the  once  familiar 
spectacle  there  flowed  back  upon  him,  with  startling 
force,  old  impressions  and  traditions.  He  was  in 
Cambridge  again,  a  King's  man,  attending  King's 
Chapel.  He  was  thinking  of  his  approaching 
Schools,  and  there  rose  in  his  mind  a  number  of  fig- 
ures, moving  or  at  rest,  Cambridge  men  like  himself, 
long  since  dismissed  from  recollection.  Suddenly 
memory  seemed  to  open  out — to  become  full,  and 
urgent,  and  emphatic.  He  appeared  to  be  living  at 
a  great  rate,  to  be  thinking  and  feeling  with  peculiar 
force.  Perhaps  it  was  fever.  His  hands  burnt. 

"  My  soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord,  and  my  spirit 
hath  rejoiced  in  God  my  Saviour!  " 

As  the  chant  rose,  and  he  recognized  the  words, 


HARVEST  211 

he  felt  extraordinarily  exalted,  released,  purified. 
Why  not  think  away  the  past?  It  has  no  existence, 
except  in  thought. 

"  I  am  what  I  conceive  myself  to  be — who  can 
prove  me  to  be  anything  else?  What  am  I  then! 
An  educated  man,  with  a  mind — an  intelligence.  I 
have  damaged  it,  but  there  it  is — still  mine." 

His  eyes  wandered,  during  the  Lesson,  to  the  line 
of  sculptured  Statesmen  in  the  north  transept.  He 
had  taken  History  honours,  and  his  thoughts  began 
to  play  with  matter  still  stored  in  them :  an  essay  on 
Dizzy  and  Cobden  he  had  written  for  a  Cambridge 
club — or  Gladstone's  funeral,  which  he  had  seen  as 
a  boy  of  seventeen.  He  had  sat  almost  in  this  very 
place,  with  his  mother,  who  had  taken  pains  to  bring 
him  to  see  it  as  an  historic  spectacle  which  he  might 
wish  to  remember.  A  quiet,  dull  woman,  his  mother 
— taciturn,  and  something  of  a  bookworm.  She  had 
never  understood  him,  nor  he  her.  But  she  had  oc- 
casionally shown  moments  of  expansion  and  emotion, 
when  the  soul  within  glowed  a  little  through  its 
coverings;  and  he  remembered  the  look  in  her  eyes 
as  the  coffin  disappeared  into  the  earth,  amid  the 
black-coated  throng  of  Lords  and  Commons.  She 
had  been  for  years  a  great  though  silent  worshipper 
of  Mr.  Gladstone,  to  the  constant  amusement  of  her 
Tory  husband  and  sons. 


212;  HARVEST 

Then,  suddenly,  a  face,  a  woman's  pretty  face,  in 
the  benches  of  the  north  transept,  caught  his  eye, 
and  with  a  leap,  as  of  something  unchained,  the 
beast  within  him  awoke.  It  had  reminded  him  of 
Rachel;  and  therewith  the  decent  memories  of  the 
distant  past  disappeared,  engulfed  by  the  seething, 
ugly,  mud-stained  present.  He  was  again  crouching 
on  the  hill-side,  in  the  shelter  of  the  holly,  watching 
the  scene  within :  Rachel  in  that  man's  arms !  Had 
the  American  seen  him?  He  remembered  his  own 
backward  start  of  alarm,  as  EUesborough  suddenly 
turned  and  walked  towards  the  window.  He  had 
allowed  himself,  in  his  eagerness  to  see,  to  press  too 
near.  He  had  exposed  himself?  He  did  not  really 
believe  that  he  had  been  discovered — unless  the 
American  was  an  uncommonly  cool  hand!  Any 
way,  his  retreat  to  the  wooded  cover  of  the  hill  had 
been  prompt.  Once  arrived  in  the  thick  plantation 
on  the  crest,  he  had  thrown  himself  down  exhausted. 
But  as  he  sat  panting  there,  on  the  fringe  of  the 
wood,  he  had  fancied  voices  and  the  flash  of  a  light 
in  the  hollow  beneath  him.  These  slight  signs  of 
movement,  however,  had  quickly  disappeared. 
Darkness  and  silence  resumed  possession  of  the 
farm,  and  he  had  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  his  way 
unmolested  through  the  trees  to  the  main  road,  and 
to  the  little  town,  five  miles  nearer  to  London  than 


HARVEST  213 

Millsborough,  at  which  he  had  taken  -a  room,  under 
his  present  name  of  Wilson. 

The  wooded  common,  indeed,  with  its  high,  with- 
ered bracken,  together  with  the  hills  encircling  the 
farm,  had  been  the  cover  from  which  he  had  carried 
out  his  prying  campaign  upon  his  former  wife.  As 
he  sat  or  knelt,  mechanically,  under  the  high  and 
shadowy  spaces  of  the  Abbey,  his  mind  filled  with 
excited  recollections  of  that  other  evening  when, 
after  tearing  his  hand  badly  on  some  barbed  wire 
surrounding  one  of  Colonel  Shepherd's  game  pre- 
serves, so  that  it  bled  profusely,  and  he  had  noth- 
ing to  bandage  it  with,  he  had  suddenly  become 
aware  of  voices  behind  him,  and  of  a  large  party 
of  men  in  khaki — Canadian  foresters,  by  the  look 
of  them,  from  the  Ralstone  timber  camp,  advancing, 
at  some  distance,  in  a  long  extended  line  through  the 
trees;  so  that  they  were  bound  to  come  upon  him 
if  he  remained  in  the  wood.  He  turned  back  at 
once,  faced  the  barbed  wire  again,  with  renewed 
damage  both  to  clothes  and  hands,  and  ran,  crouch- 
ing, down  the  green  road  leading  to  the  farm,  his 
wound  bleeding  as  he  ran.  Then  he  had  perceived 
an  old  labourer  making  for  him  with  shouts.  But 
under  the  shelter  of  the  cart-shed,  he  had  first  suc- 
ceeded in  tying  his  handkerchief  so  tightly  round  his 
wrist,  with  his  teeth  and  one  hand,  as  to  check  the 


214  HARVEST 

bleeding,  which  was  beginning  to  make  him  feel 
faint.  Then,  creeping  round  the  back  of  the  farm, 
he  saw  that  the  upper  half  of  the  stable  door  was 
open,  and  leaping  over  it,  he  had  hidden  among  the 
horses,  just  as  Halsey  came  past  in  pursuit.  The 
old  man — confound  him! — had  made  the  circuit  of 
the  farm,  and  had  then  gone  up  the  grass  road  to 
the  hill.  Delane,  looking  out  from  the  dark  stable, 
had  been  able  to  watch  him  through  the  dusk,  keep- 
ing an  eye  the  while  to  the  opposite  door  opening 
on  the  farm-yard.  But  the  labourer  disappeared, 
and  in  the  dark  roomy  stable,  with  its  beamed  roof, 
nothing  could  be  heard  but  the  champing  and  slow 
tramping  movements  of  the  splendid  cart-horses. 
Rachel's  horses !  Delane  passed  his  free  hand  over 
two  of  them,  and  they  turned  their  stately  heads  and 
nosed  him  in  a  quiet  way.  Then  he  vaulted  again 
over  the  half  door,  and  hurried  up  the  hill,  in  the 
gathering  darkness. 

He  was  aware  of  the  ghost-story.  He  had  heard 
it  and  the  story  of  the  murder  from  a  man  cutting 
bracken  on  the  common ;  and  he  had  already  formed 
some  vague  notions  of  making  use  of  it  for  the 
blackmailing  of  Rachel.  It  amused  him  to  think 
that  perhaps  his  sudden  disappearance  would  lead 
to  a  new  chapter  of  the  old  tale. 

Then  at  the  recollection  of  Rachel's  prosperity 


HARVEST  215 

and  peace,  of  her  sleek  horses  and  cows,  her  huge 
hay  and  corn  stacks,  her  comfortable  home,  and  her 
new  lover,  a  fresh  shudder  of  rage  and  hatred 
gripped  him.  She  had  once  been  his  thing — his 
chattel :  he  seemed  to  see  her  white  neck  and  breast, 
her  unbound  hair  on  the  pillow  beside  him — and  she 
had  escaped  him,  and  danced  on  him. 

Of  course  she  had  betrayed  him — of  course  she 
had  had  a  lover !  What  other  explanation  was  there 
of  her  turning  against  him? — of  her  flight  from  his 
house  ?  But  she  had  been  clever  enough  to  hide  all 
the  traces  of  it.  He  recalled  his  own  lame  and 
baffled  attempts  to  get  hold  of  some  evidence  against 
her,  with  gnashing  of  teeth.  .  .  . 

"  For  the  things  which  are  seen  are  temporal,  but 
the  things  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal!  " 

He  caught  the  words  staring  at  him  from  the  page 
of  the  open  prayer  book  beside  him,  and  automat- 
ically the  Greek  equivalent  suggested  itself.  He  had 
always  done  well  in  "  divinners  " !  Then  he  be- 
came aware  that  the  blessing  had  been  given,  that 
the  organ  was  playing,  and  the  congregation  was 
breaking  up. 

Twenty-four  hours  later,  Delane  found  himself 
on  a  road  leading  up  from  the  town  where  he  was 


2i6  HARVEST 

lodging  to  the  summit  of  the  wide  stretch  of  com- 
mon land  on  the  western  side  of  which  lay  Great 
End  Farm.  Half  way  up  a  long  hill,  he  came  upon 
a  young  man  in  uniform,  disconsolately  kneeling  be- 
side a  bicycle  which  he  seemed  to  be  vainly  trying 
to  mend.  As  Delane  came  up  with  him,  he  looked 
up  and  asked  for  a  light.  Delane  produced  a  match, 
and  the  young  man,  by  the  help  of  it,  inspected  his 
broken  machine. 

"  No  go !  "  he  said  with  a  shrug,  "  I  shall  have 
to  walk." 

He  rose  from  the  ground,  put  up  the  tool  he  had 
been  using,  and  buttoned  up  his  coat.  Then  he 
asked  Delane  where  he  was  going.  Delane  named 
a  little  village  on  the  farther  edge  of  the  common. 

"  Oh,  well,  that's  straight  ahead.  I  turn  off  to 
the  right,"  said  the  young  soldier,  "  at  the  cross 
road." 

They  walked  on  together,  Delane  rather  unwill- 
ingly submitting  to  the  companionship  thus  sprung 
upon  him.  He  saw  from  the  badge  on  the  man's 
shoulder  that  he  belonged  to  one  of  the  Canadian 
Forestry  Corps  in  the  district,  and  was  at  once  on 
his  guard.  They  started  in  silence,  till  Delane,  pull- 
ing his  mind  back  with  a  jerk,  asked  his  companion 
if  he  was  going  to  Ipscombe. 

"  No — only  to  Great  End  Farm." 


HARVEST  217 

Darkness  hid  the  sudden  change  in  Delane's 
countenance. 

"  You  know  some  one  there?  " 

"  No,  but  I  want  to  see  one  of  the  ladies  about 
something.  There's  two  of  them  running  the  farm. 
But  Miss  Henderson's  the  boss." 

Cautiously,  with  assumed  indifference,  Delane  be- 
gan to  ask  questions. 

He  discovered  that  his  companion's  name  was 
Dempsey;  and  before  many  minutes  had  passed  the 
murderer's  grandson  was  in  the  full  swing  of  his 
story.  Delane,  despising  the  young  man  for  a  chat- 
tering fool,  listened,  nevertheless,  with  absorbed  at- 
tention to  every  item  of  his  tale.  Presently  Dempsey 
said  with  a  laugh, — 

'  There's  been  people  in  Ipscombe  all  these  years 
as  always  would  have  it  old  Watson  walked.  I 
know  the  names  of  three  people  at  least  as  have 
sworn  to  seein'  'im.  And  there's  an  old  fellow  in 
Ipscombe  now  that  declares  he's  seen  him,  only 
t'ther  day." 

Delane  lit  his  pipe,  and  nonchalantly  inquired 
particulars. 

.Dempsey  gave  a  mocking  account  of  Halsey's 
story. 

"  He's  an  old  fool !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  ghost 
bleedin'  before !  "  The  speaker  threw  back  his  head 


218  HARVEST 

and  laughted.  "  That's  all  rot !  Besides,  I  don't 
believe  in  ghosts — never  did.  But  as  Miss  Hender- 
son's farmin'  the  very  land  where  old  Watson  was 
done  in,  I  thought  she'd  like  to  have  the  true 
story  and  first  hand.  And  there's  no  one  but  me 
knows  it — not  first  hand.  So  I  wrote  to  her,  and  said 
as  I  would  call  at  six  o'clock  this  evening." 

"You  know  her?" 

"  No — e,"  said  the  young  man,  hesitating.  "  But 
I  somehow  fancy  as  I  may  have  seen  her  before." 

"Where?" 

"  Why,  in  Canada.  I  was  living  on  a  farm,  not 
far  from  Winnipeg  " — he  named  the  place.  Delane 
suddenly  dropped  his  pipe,  and  stooped  to  pick  it  up. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  "  go  on." 

"  And  there  was  a  man — a  sort  of  gentleman — 
his  name  was  Delane — on  another  farm  about  ten 
miles  from  where  I  was  working.  People  talked  of 
him  no  end — he  was  a  precious  bad  lot!  I  never 
saw  him  that  I  know  of — but  I  saw  his  wife  twice. 
They  say  he  was  a  brute  to  her.  And  she  was 
awfully  handsome.  You  couldn't  forget  her  when 
you'd  once  come  across  her.  And  when  I  saw  Miss 
Henderson  drivin'  one  of  the  wagons  in  the  Mills- 
borough  Harvest  Festival,  a  fortnight  ago,  I  could 
have  sworn  it  was  Mrs.  Delane.  But,  of  course,  it 
was  my  mistake." 


HARVEST  219 

"Where  did  you  see  Mrs.  Delane?" 

"  Once  at  her  own  place.  I  was  delivering  some 
poultry  food  that  Delane  had  bought  of  my  em- 
ployer— and  once  at  a  place  belongin'  to  a  man 
called  Tanner." 

"Tanner?" 

"  Tanner.  He  was  somethin'  the  same  sort  as 
Delane.  We've  a  lot  of  them  in  Canada — remit- 
tance men,  we  call  them — men  as  can't  get  on  in  the 
old  country — and  their  relations  pay  'em  to  go — and 
pay  'em  to  keep  away.  But  Tanner  was  a  nice  sort 
of  fellow — quite  different  from  Delane.  He  painted 
pictures.  I  remember  his  showin'  some  o'  them  in 
Winnipeg.  But  he  was  always  down  on  his  luck. 
He  couldn't  make  any  money,  and  he  couldn't 
keep  it" 

'*  You  saw  Miss  Henderson  there?  " 

Dempsey  gave  a  guffaw. 

"  Oh,  Lor,  no !  I  don't  say  that.  Why,  I'd  get 
into  trouble — shouldn't  I  ?  But  I  saw  Mrs.  Delane. 
I  was  driving  past  Tanner's  place,  with  two  horses, 
and  a  'heavy  load,  November  two  years  ago — just 
before  we  passed  our  Military  Service  Act,  and  I 
joined  up.  And  an  awful  storm  came  on — a  regular 
blizzard.  Before  I  got  to  Tanner's  I  was  nearly 
wore  out,  an'  the  horses,  too.  So  I  stopped  to  ask 
for  a  hot  drink  or  somethin'.  You  couldn't  see  the 


220  HARVEST 

horses'  heads  for  the  snow.  And  Tanner  brought 
me  out  some  hot  coffee — I'm  a  teetotaller,  you  see — • 
an'  a  woman  stood  at  the  door,  and  handed  it  to  him. 
She  was  holdin'  a  lamp,  so  I  saw  her  quite  plain. 
And  I  knew  her  at  once,  though  she  was  only  there 
a  minute.  It  was  Mrs.  Roger  Delane." 

He  stopped  to  light  a  cigarette.  No  sound  came 
from  his  companion.  All  round  them  spread  the 
great  common,  with  its  old  thorns,  its  clumps  of  fir, 
its  hollows  and  girdling  woods,  faintly  lit  by  a 
ghostly  moonlight  that  was  just  beginning  to  pene- 
trate the  misty  November  dusk.  The  cheerful  light 
of  Dempsey's  cigarette  shone  a  moment  in  the  gloom. 
Delane  was  conscious  of  an  excitement  which  it 
took  all  his  will  to  master.  But  he  spoke  care- 
lessly. 

"  And  what  was  Mrs.  Delane  doing  there  ?  " 

Dempsey  chuckled. 

"How  should  I  know?  Tanner  used  to  have  a 
sister  staying  with  him  sometimes.  Perhaps  she  and 
Mrs.  Delane  were  friends.  But  I  saw  that  woman 
quite  plain.  It  was  Mrs.  Delane — that  I'll  swear. 
And  Miss  Henderson  is  as  like  her  as  two  peas.  It 
might  have  been  her  sister.  Miss  Henderson's  very 
uncommon-looking.  You  don't  often  see  that  com- 
plexion and  that  hair.  And  she  has  lived  in 
Canada." 


HARVEST  221 

"  How  do  you  know?  " 

"  She  told  old  Halsey.  Well,  there's  my  road, 
just  ahead.  And  if  you're  going  to  Moor  End,  you 
keep  straight  on.  The  moon's  coming  up.  It  won't 
be  very  dark."  And  with  a  careless  good-night,  the 
Canadian  turned  a  corner,  and  disappeared  along  a 
road  which  diverged  at  a  right  angle  from  the  main 
road,  and  led,  as  Delane  knew,  direct  to  Ips- 
combe. 

He  himself  walked  on,  till  he  found  a  lane  tun- 
nelled through  one  of  the  deep  woods  that  on  their 
western  side  ran  down  to  Great  End  Farm.  In  the 
heart  of  that  wood  there  was  a  keeper's  hut,  disused 
entirely  since  the  war.  Delane  had  discovered  it, 
and  was  quite  prepared  to  spend  a  night  there  at  a 
pinch.  There  was  a  rude  fireplace  in  it,  and  some 
old  sacks.  With  some  of  the  fallen  wood  lying 
about,  a  man  could  make  a  fire,  and  pass  a  winter 
night  in  very  tolerable  comfort. 

He  made  his  way  in,  managed  to  prop  a  sack 
against  the  small  cobwebbed  window,  fastened  the 
door  with  a  rusty  bolt,  and  brought  out  an  electric 
torch  he  always  carried  in  his  pocket. 

There  was  not  a  house  within  a  long  distance. 
There  were  no  keepers  now  on  Colonel  Shep- 
herd's estate.  Darkness — the  woods — and  the  wild 
creatures  in  them — were  his  only  companions. 


222  HARVEST 

Half  a  mile  away,  no  doubt,  Rachel  in  her 
smart  new  parlour  was  talking  to  the  Canadian 
fellow. 

Tanner!    Ye  gods!     At  last  he  had  the  clue  to 
it  all. 


DEMPSEY  did  not  find  Rachel  Henderson  at 
home  when  he  called  at  Great  End  Farm, 
after  his  meeting  with  his  unknown  com- 
panion on  the  common. 

Ellesborough  and  Rachel  had  gone  to  London  for 
the  day.  Ellesborough's  duties  at  the  Ralstone  camp 
were  in  a  state  of  suspended  animation,  since,  in 
these  expectant  days  before  the  signing  of  the 
armistice,  there  had  been  a  general  slackening,  as 
though  by  silent  and  general  consent,  in  the  timber 
felling  due  to  the  war  throughout  the  beautiful  dis- 
trict in  which  Millsborough  lay.  Enough  damage 
had  been  done  already  to  the  great  wood- 
sanctuaries.  On  one  pretext  or  another  men  held 
their  hands. 

Ellesborough  then  was  free  to  take  time  off  when 
he  would,  and  to  spend  it  in  love-making.  The  en- 
gagement had  been  announced,  and  Ellesborough 
believed  himself  a  very  happy  man — with  the  slight 
drawbacks  that  may  be  imagined. 

In  the  first  place — although,  as  he  became  better 
acquainted  with  Rachel's  varying  moods  and  aspects, 

323 


224  HARVEST 

he  fell  more  and  more  deeply  under  the  charm  of  her 
temperament — a  temperament  at  once  passionate 
and  childish,  crude,  and  subtle,  with  many  signs, 
fugitive  and  surprising,  of  a  deep  and  tragic  reflect- 
iveness ;  he  became  also  more  and  more  conscious  of 
what  seemed  to  him  the  lasting  effects  upon  her  of 
her  miserable  marriage.  The  nervous  effects  above 
all ;  shown  by  the  vague  "  fears  "  of  which  she  had 
spoken  to  him,  on  one  of  their  early  walks  together; 
and  by  the  gulfs  of  depression  and  silence  into  which 
she  would  often  fall,  after  periods  of  high,  even  wild 
spirits. 

It  was  this  constant  perception  of  a  state  of 
nervous  suffering  and  irritability  in  this  splendid 
physical  creature — a  state  explained,  as  he  thought, 
by  her  story,  which  had  put  him  instantly  on  his 
guard,  when  that  sinister  vision  at  the  window  had 
sprung  for  a  moment  out  of  the  darkness.  Before 
almost  he  could  move  towards  it,  it  had  gone.  And 
with  a  farewell  smile  at  the  woman  he  had  just  been 
holding  in  his  arms,  a  smile  which  betrayed  nothing, 
he  had  hurried  away  from  her  to  investigate  the 
mystery.  A  hasty  word  to  Janet  Leighton  in  the 
kitchen,  and  he  was  making  a  rapid  circuit  of  the 
farm,  and  searching  the  farm-yard;  with  no  results 
whatever. 

Then  he,  Janet,  and  Hastings  had  held  a  hurried 


HARVEST  225 

and  secret  colloquy  in  a  corner  of  the  great  cow-shed, 
as  far  from  Rachel's  sight  and  hearing  as  possible. 
Clearly  some  one  was  haunting  the  farm  for  some 
malicious  purpose.  Hastings,  for  the  first  time,  told 
the  story  of  the  blood-marks,  and  of  two  or  three 
other  supposed  visions  of  a  man,  tall  and  stooping, 
with  a  dark  sallow  face,  which  persons  working  on 
the  farm,  or  walking  near  it  on  the  hill,  had  either 
seen  or  imagined.  Ellesborough  finally  had  jumped 
on  his  motor-bicycle  and  ridden  off  to  the  police 
depot  at  Millsborough.  Some  wind  of  the  happen- 
ings at  Great  End  Farm  had  already  reached  the 
police,  but  they  could  throw  no  light  on  them.  They 
arranged,  however,  with  Ellesborough  to  patrol  the 
farm  and  the  neighbourhood  after  dark  as  often  as 
their  diminished  force  would  allow. 

They  were  inclined  to  believe  that  some  half- 
witted person  was  concerned,  drawn,  perhaps,  from 
the  alien  population  which  had  been  floating  through 
the  district,  and  bent  on  mischief  or  robbery — or  a 
mixture  of  both. 

Rachel  meanwhile  knew  nothing  of  these  consulta- 
tions. After  her  engagement  was  made  public,  she 
began  to  look  so  white,  so  tired  and  tremulous,  that 
both  Ellesborough  and  Janet  were  alarmed.  Over- 
work, according  to  Janet,  with  the  threshing,  and  in 
,the  potato-fields.  Never  had  Rachel  worked  with 


226  HARVEST 

such  a  feverish  energy  as  in  these  autumn  weeks. 
Add  the  excitement  of  an  engagement,  said  Janet, 
and  you  see  the  result. 

She  would  have  prescribed  bed  and  rest;  but 
Rachel  scouted  the  advice.  The  alternative  was 
amusement — change  of  scene — in  Ellesborough's 
company.  Here  she  was  more  docile,  feverishly  sub- 
missive and  happy,  indeed,  so  long  as  Ellesborough 
made  the  plans,  and  Ellesborough  watched  over  her. 
Janet  wondered  at  certain  profound  changes  in  her. 
It  was,  she  saw,  the  first  real  passion  of  Rachel's 
life. 

So  Dempsey  called  in  vain.  Miss  Henderson  was 
in  town  for  a  theatre  and  shopping.  But  he  saw 
Janet  Leighton,  to  whom  with  all  the  dramatic  ad- 
ditions and  flourishes  he  had  now  bestowed  upon  it, 
he  told  his  story.  Janet,  who,  on  a  hint  from  Has- 
tings, had  expected  the  visitation,  was  at  any  rate 
glad  that  Rachel  was  out  of  the  way,  seeing  what  a 
strong  and  curious  dislike  she  had  to  the  ghost-story, 
and  also  to  any  talk  of  the  murder  from  which  it 
originated. 

Janet,  however,  listened,  and  with  a  growing  and 
fascinated  attention,  to  the  old  tale.  Was  there 
some  real  connection,  she  wondered,  between  it  and 
the  creature  who  had  been  prowling  round  the  farm  ? 


HARVEST  227 

Was  some  one  personating  the  ghost,  and  for  what 
reason?  The  same  queries  were  ardently  in  the 
mind  of  Dempsey.  He  reported  Halsey's  adventure, 
commenting  on  it  indignantly. 

"  It's  some  one  as  knows  the  story,  and  is  playin' 
the  fool  with  it.  It's  a  very  impudent  thing  to  do ! 
It's  not  playing  fair,  that's  what  it  isn't;  and  I'd 
like  to  get  hold  of  him." 

Janet's  mouth  twitched.  The  young  man's  pro- 
prietorial interest  in  his  grandfather's  crime,  and 
annoyance  that  any  one  should  interfere  with  it, 
turned  the  whole  thing  to  comedy.  Moreover,  his 
fatuous  absorption  in  that  side  of  the  matter  made 
him  useless  for  any  other  purpose :  so  that  she  soon 
ceased  from  cross-examining  him,  and  he  rose 
to  go. 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry  not  to  have  seen  Miss  Hender- 
son,"'he  said  awkwardly,  twisting  his  cap.  "I'd 
like  to  have  had  a  talk  with  her  about  Canada.  It 
was  old  Halsey  told  me  she'd  lived  in  Canada." 

*  Yes,"  said  Janet  irresponsively. 

Dempsey  smiled  broadly  and  seemed  embarrassed. 
At  last  he  said  with  a  jerk: — 

"  I  wonder  if  Miss  Henderson  ever  knew  a  man 
called  Tanner — who  lived  near  Winnipeg?  " 

"  I  never  heard  her  speak  of  him." 

"  Because  " — he  still  twirled — "  when  I  saw  Miss 


228  HARVEST 

Henderson  at  Millsborough  that  day  of  the  rally, 
I  thought  as  I'd  seen  her  before." 

"Oh?"  said  Janet  ardently.  But  some  instinct 
put  her  on  her  guard. 

"  Dick  Tanner,  they  called  him,  was  a  man — an 
artist  chap — who  lived  not  far  from  the  man  I  was 
with — and  I  once  saw  a  lady  there  just  like  Miss 
Henderson." 

"Did  you?" 

Dempsey  grew  bolder. 

"  Only  it  couldn't  have  been  Miss  Henderson,  you 
see — because  this  lady  I  saw  was  a  Mrs.  Delane. 
But  was  Mrs.  Delane  perhaps  a  relation  of  Miss 
Henderson?  She  was  just  like  Miss  Henderson." 

"  I'll  ask  Miss  Henderson,"  said  Janet,  moving 
towards  the  door,  as  a  signal  to  him  to  take  his  leave. 
"  But  I  expect  you're  confusing  her  with  some  one 
.else." 

Dempsey,  however,  began  rather  eagerly  to  dot 
the  i's.  The  picture  of  the  snowstorm,  of  the 
woman  at  the  door,  various  points  in  his  description 
of  her,  and  of  the  solitary — apparently  bachelor — 
owner  of  the  farm,  began  to  affect  Janet  uncomfort- 
ably. She  got  rid  of  the  chatter-box  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, and  went  slowly  to  the  kitchen,  to  get  supper 
ready.  As  she  fried  the  bacon,  and  took  some  vege- 
tables out  of  the  hay-box,  she  was  thinking  fast. 


HARVEST  229 

Tanner?  No — she  had  never  heard  Rachel  men- 
tion the  name.  But  it  happened  that  Dempsey  had 
given  a  precise  date.  It  was  in  the  "  November  be- 
fore they  passed  Conscription "  in  Canada,  i.  e. 
before  he  himself  was  called  up — that  he  saw  Mrs. 
Delane,  at  night,  in  Dick  Tanner's  house.  And 
Janet  remembered  that,  according  to  the  story  which 
as  they  two  sat  by  the  fire  alone  at  night,  when  the 
girls  were  gone  to  bed,  Rachel  had  gradually  built 
up  before  her.  It  was  in  that  same  month  that 
Rachel  had  been  deserted  by  Delane;  who  had  gone 
off  to  British  Columbia  with  the  Italian  girl,  as  his 
wife  afterwards  knew,  leaving  Rachel  alone  on  the 
farm — with  one  Japanese  servant. 

Why  shouldn't  she  have  been  staying  on  Mr. 
Tanner's  farm?  There  was  no  doubt  some  one  else 
there — whom  the  boy  didn't  see.  Perhaps  she  had 
herself  taken  refuge  there  during  the  storm.  But 
all  the  same  Janet  felt  vaguely  troubled. 

It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock,  and  the  moon,  new  at 
the  full,  was  rising  over  the  eastern  hill,  and  bal- 
ancing the  stubbles  and  the  new-turned  plough-lands 
in  the  upland  cup  to  a  pearly  whiteness  as  they  lay 
under  the  dark  woods  and  a  fleecy  sky.  There  was  a 
sound  of  a  motor  in  the  lane — the  village  taxi  bring- 
ing the  travellers  home. 


230  HARVEST 

In  a  few  more  minutes  they  were  in  the  sitting- 
room,  Rachel  throwing  off  her  thick  coat  with  Elles- 
borough's  help,  and  declaring  that  she  was  not  the 
least  tired. 

"  Don't  believe  her !  "  said  Ellesborough,  smiling 
at  Janet.  "  She  is  not  a  truthful  woman!  " 

And  his  proud  eyes  returned  to  Rachel  as  though 
now  that  there  was  light  to  see  her  by  he  had  no 
other  use  for  them. 

Rachel,  indeed,  was  in  a  radiant  mood.  Pallor 
and  depression  had  vanished;  she  was  full  of  chatter 
about  the  streets,  the  crowds,  the  shops. 

"  But  it's  hopeless  to  go  shopping  with  a  man ! 
He  can't  make  up  his  mind  one  bit !  " 

"  He  hadn't  a  mind  to  make  up !  "  murmured 
Ellesborough,  looking  up  at  her  as  she  perched 
above  him  on  a  corner  of  the  table. 

She  laughed. 

"  That,  I  suppose,  was  what  made  him  want  to 
buy  the  whole  place !  If  I'd  taken  his  advice,  Janet, 
I  should  have  been  just  cleaned  out !  " 

"  What's  the  good  of  being  economical  when  one's 
going  to  be  married!  "  said  Ellesborough,  joyously. 
«  Why " 

Rachel  interrupted  him — with  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  And  we've  settled  our  plans,  Janet — that  is,  if 


HARVEST  231 

you're  agreeable.  Will  you  mind  looking  after  the 
farm  for  six  months?  " 

"  You  see,  if  the  armistice  is  signed — and  we  shall 
know  to-morrow,"  said  Ellesborough,  "  I  shall  be 
free  in  a  month  or  so,  and  then  we  propose  to  marry 
and  get  a  passage  before  Christmas.  I  must  go 
home,  and  she  says  she'll  come  with  me !  " 

A  shadow  had  fallen  suddenly,  it  seemed  to  Janet, 
over  Rachel's  aspect,  but  she  at  once  endorsed  what 
Ellesborough  had  said. 

"  We  can't  settle  things — can  we  ? — till  we've  seen 
his  people.  We've  got  to  decide  whether  I'll  go  to 
America,  or  he'll  come  here." 

"  But  we  want  to  say " — Ellesborough  turned 
gravely  to  Janet — "  that  first  and  foremost,  we  wish 
to  do  the  best  for  you." 

The  sudden  tears  came  into  Janet's  eyes.  But 
they  did  not  show. 

"Oh,  that'll  be  all  right.  Don't  bother  about 
me." 

'We  shall  bother!"  said  Rachel  with  energy, 
"  but  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  presently.  He  won't 
stay  to  supper." 

She  descended  from  the  table,  and  Ellesborough 
rose.  After  a  little  more  chat  about  the  day  and 
its  doings,  he  said  good-night  to  Janet. 

"  How  do  you  get  back?  " 


232  HARVEST 

"  Oh,  I  left  my  bike  in  the  village.  I  shall  walk 
and  pick  it  up  there." 

Rachel  took  up  her  thick  coat  and  slipped  it  on 
again.  She  would  walk  with  him  to  the  road,  she 
said — there  were  some  more  things  to  say. 

Janet  watched  them  go  out  into  the  wide  frosty 
night,  where  the  sky  was  shedding  its  clouds,  and 
the  temperature  was  falling  rapidly.  She  realized 
that  they  were  in  that  stage  of  passion  when  every- 
thing is  unreal  outside  the  one  supreme  thing,  and 
all  other  life  passes  like  a  show  half-seen.  And  all 
the  while  the  name  Tanner — Dick  Tanner — echoed 
in  her  mind.  Such  a  simple  thing  to  put  a  careless 
question  to  Rachel!  Yet  perhaps — after  all — not 
so  simple. 

Meanwhile  the  two  lovers  were  together  on  the 
path  through  the  stubbles,  walking  hand-in-hand 
through  the  magic  of  the  moonlight. 

;'  Will  you  write  a  little  line  to  my  mother  to- 
morrow?" 

"  Yes,  of  course.    But " 

He  caught  her  long  breath. 

"  I  have  prepared  the  way,  darling.  I  promise 
you — it  will  be  all  right." 

"But  why — why — didn't  I  see  you  first?"  It 
was  a  stifled  cry,  which  seemed  somehow  to  speak 
for  them  both.  And  she  added,  bitterly,  "  It's  no 


HARVEST  233 

good  talking — it  can't  ever  be  the  same— to  you,  or 
to  your  people." 

"  It  shall  be  the  same !  Or  rather,  we  shall  owe 
you  a  double  share  of  love  to  make  up  to  you — for 
that  horrible  time.  Forget  it,  dear — make  your- 
self forget  it.  My  mother  would  tell  you  so  at 


once." 


"  Isn't  she — very  strict  about  divorce?  " 

Ellesborough  hesitated — just  a  moment. 

"  She  couldn't  have  any  doubts  about  your  case — 
dearest — who  could?  You  fell  among  thieves, 
and " 

"  And  you're  picking  me  up,  and  taking  me  to 
the  inn?" 

He  pressed  her  hand  passionately.  They  walked 
in  silence  till  the  gate  appeared. 

"  Go  back,  dearest.     I  shall  be  over  on  Sunday." 

"Not  till  then?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not.  If  the  peace  news  comes  to- 
morrow, the  camp'll  go  mad,  and  I  shall  have  to 
look  after  them." 

They  paused  at  the  gate,  and  he  kissed  her.  She 
lay  passive  in  his  arms,  the  moonlight  touched  her 
brown  hair,  and  the  beautiful  curves  of  her  cheek 
and  throat. 

!c  Wasn't  it  heavenly  to-day?"  she  whispered. 

"  Heavenly !    Go  home !  " 


234  HARVEST 

She  turned  back  towards  the  farm,  drawing  her 
cloak  and  its  fur  collar  close  round  her,  against  the 
cold.  And  indeed  Ellesborough  was  no  sooner  gone, 
the  rush  of  the  motor  cycle  along  the  distant  road 
had  no  sooner  died  away,  than  a  shiver  ran  through 
her  which  was  more  than  physical.  So  long  as  he 
was  there,  she  was  happy,  excited,  hopeful.  And 
when  he  was  not  there,  the  protecting  screen  had 
fallen,  and  she  was  exposed  to  all  the  stress  and 
terror  of  the  storm  raging  in  her  own  mind. 

"  Why  can't  I  forget  it  all — everything!  It's 
dead — it's  dead! "  she  sajd  to  herself  again  and 
again  in  an  anguish,  as  she  walked  back  through  the 
broad  open  field  where  the  winter-sown  corn  was  just 
springing  in  the  furrows — the  moon  was  so  bright 
that  she  could  see  the  tiny  green  spears  of  it. 

And  yet  in  reality  she  perfectly  understood  why  it 
was  that,  instead  of  forgetting,  memory  was  becom- 
ing more  and  more  poignant,  more  and  more  perse- 
cuting. It  was  because  the  searching  processes  of 
love  were  going  deeper  and  deeper  into  her  inmost 
soul.  This  good  man  who  loved  her,  who  was  going 
to  take  her  injured  life  into  his  keeping,  to  devote 
to  her  all  his  future,  and  all  the  harvest  of  his  up- 
right and  hard-working  past — she  was  going  to 
marry  him  with  a  lie  between  them,  so  that  she  could 
never  look  him  straight  in  the  face,  never  be  certain 


HARVEST  235 

that,  sometime  or  other,  something  would  not  emerge 
like  a  drowned  face  from  the  dark,  and  ruin  all  their 
happiness.  It  had  seemed,  at  the  beginning,  so  easy 
to  keep  silence,  to  tell  everything  but  the  one  miser- 
able fact  that  she  couldn't  tell!  And  now  it  was 
getting  intolerably  hard,  just  because  she  knew  for 
the  first  time  what  love  really  meant,  with  its  ardour 
for  self-revelation,  for  an  absolute  union  with  the 
beloved.  By  marrying  him  without  confession,  she 
would  not  only  be  wronging  him,  she  would  be  lay- 
ing up  probable  misery  for  herself — and  him — 
through  the  mere  action  of  her  own  temperament. 
For  she  knew  herself.  Among  the  girls  and 
women  she  had  been  thrown  with  during  the  preced- 
ing year  and  a  half,  there  were  some  moral  anar- 
chists, with  whose  views  she  had  become  strikingly 
familiar.  Why,  they  said,  make  so  much  of  these 
physical  facts?  Accept  them,  and  the  incidents  that 
spring  from  them.  Why  all  this  weeping  and  wail- 
ing over  supposed  shames  and  disgraces?  The 
sex-life  of  the  present  is  making  its  own  new  codes. 
Who  knows  what  they  will  ultimately  be?  And  as 
for  the  indelible  traces  and  effects  of  an  act  of  weak- 
ness or  passion  that  the  sentimental  and  goody- 
goody  people  talk  of,  in  the  majority  of  cases  they 
don't  exist.  After  it,  the  human  being  concerned 
may  be  just  the  same  as  before. 


236  HARVEST 

Rachel  was  quite  aware  of  this  modern  gospel. 
Only  she  was  shut  out  from  adopting  it  in  her  own 
case  by  an  invincible  heredity,  by  the  spirit  of  her 
father  in  her,  the  saintly  old  preacher,  whose  un- 
compromising faith  she  had  witnessed  and  shared 
through  all  her  young  years.  She  might  and  did  pro- 
test that  the  faith  was  no  longer  hers.  But  it  had 
stamped  her.  She  could  never  be  wholly  rid  of  its 
prejudices  and  repulsions.  What  would  her  father 
have  said  to  her  divorce  ? — he  with  his  mystical  con- 
ception of  marriage?  She  dreaded  to  think.  And 
as  to  that  other  fact  which  weighed  on  her  con- 
science, she  seemed  to  hear  herself  pleading — with 
tears! — "Father! — it  wasn't  my  will — it  was  my 
weakness! — Don't  look  at  me  so!  " 

And  now,  in  addition,  there  was  the  pressure  upon 
her  of  Ellesborough's  own  high  ideals  and  religious 
temper;  of  the  ideals,  also,  of  his  family,  as  he  was 
tenderly  and  unconsciously  revealing  them.  And, 
finally,  there  was  the  daily  influence  of  Janet's  neigh- 
bourhood— Janet,  so  austere  for  herself,  so  pitiful 
for  others :  Janet,  so  like  Ellesborough  in  the  uncon- 
scious sternness  of  her  moral  outlook,  so  full,  be- 
sides, of  an  infinite  sorrow  for  the  sinner. 

And  between  these  two  stood  this  variable,  sen- 
suous, woman's  nature,  so  capable  both  of  good  and 
evil.  Rachel  felt  the  burden  of  their  virtues  too 


HARVEST  237 

much  for  her,  together  with  the  sting  of  her  own 
secret  knowledge. 

In  some  moments,  even,  she  rebelled  against  her 
own  passion.  She  had  such  a  moment  of  revolt,  in 
this  moonlit  dark,  as  her  eyes  took  in  the  farm,  the 
dim  outlines  of  the  farm  buildings,  the  stacks,  the 
new-ploughed  furrows.  Two  months  earlier  her  life 
had  been  absorbed  in  simple,  clear,  practical  ambi- 
tions: how  to  improve  her  stock — how  to  grow  an- 
other bushel  to  the  acre — how  and  when  to  build  a 
silo — whether  to  try  electrification:  a  score  of  pleas- 
ant riddles  that  made  the  hours  fly.  And  now  this 
old  fever  had  crept  again  into  her  blood,  and  every- 
thing had  lost  its  savour.  There  were  times  when 
she  bitterly,  childishly,  regretted  it.  She  could 
almost  have  hated  Ellesborough,  because  she  loved 
him  so  well;  and  because  of  the  terror,  the  ceaseless 
preoccupation  that  her  love  had  begun  to  impose 
upon  her. 

Janet,  watching  her  come  in,  saw  that  the  radiance 
had  departed,  and  that  she  crept  about  again  like  a 
tired  woman.  When,  after  nine  o'clock,  they  were 
alone  by  the  fire,  again  and  again  it  was  on  the  tip 
of  Janet's  tongue  to  say,  "  Tell  me,  who  was  Dick 
Tanner?"  Then,  in  a  sudden  panic  fear,  lest  the 
words  should  slip  out,  and  bring  something  irre- 
parable, she  would  get  up,  and  make  a  restless 


238  HARVEST 

pretence  of  some  household  work  or  other,  only  to 
sit  down  and  begin  the  same  inward  debate  once 
more.  But  she  said  nothing,  and  Rachel,  too,  was 
silent.  She  sat  over  the  fire,  apparently  half  asleep. 
Neither  of  them  moved  to  go  to  bed  till  nearly  mid- 
night. 

Then  they  kissed  each  other,  and  Janet  raked  out 
the  fire. 

"  To-morrow !  "  she  said,  her  eyes  on  the  red 
glow  of  the  embers,  "  to-morrow! — Will  it  be 
peace?  " 

And  then  Rachel  remembered  that  all  the  civilized 
world  was  waiting  for  the  words  that  would  end  the 
war.  Somewhere  in  a  French  chateau  there  was  a 
group  of  men  conferring,  and  on  the  issue  of  this 
night  depended  the  lives  of  thousands,  and  the  peace 
of  Europe. 

Janet  raised  her  clasped  hands,  and  her  plain, 
quiet  face  shone  in  the  candle-light.  She  murmured 
something.  Rachel  guessed  it  was  a  prayer.  But 
her  own  heart  seemed  dead  and  dumb.  She  could 
not  free  it  from  its  load  of  personal  care;  she  could 
not  feel  the  patriotic  emotion  which  had  suddenly 
seized  on  Janet. 

The  morning  broke  grey  and  misty.  The  two 
labourers  and  the  girls  went  about  their  work — rais- 


HARVEST  239 

ing  their  heads  now  and  then  to  listen.  And  at 
eleven  came  the  signal.  Out  rang  the  bells  from 
Ipscombe  Church  tower.  Labourers  and  girls  threw 
down  what  they  were  doing,  and  gathered  in  the 
farm-yard  round  Janet  and  Rachel,  who  were  waving 
flags  on  the  steps  of  the  farm-house.  Then  Rachel 
gave  them  all  a  holiday  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  and 
very  soon  there  was  no  one  left  on  the  farm  premises 
but  the  two  women  and  the  bailiff. 

"  Don't  stay,  Hastings,"  said  Rachel.  "  I'll  get 
the  horse  and  cart  myself." 

For  it  was  market  day  at  Millsborough,  and 
peace  or  no  peace,  she  had  some  business  that  must 
be  done  there. 

"  Oh,  I've  no  call  to  go,  Miss,"  said  Hastings. 
"  I'd  rather  stay  and  look  after  things." 

His  eyes  met  Janet's,  and  she  nodded  imper- 
ceptibly. She  was  relieved  to  think  of  Hastings — 
good,  faithful,  unassuming  creature  I — remaining  on 
guard.  The  very  desertion  of  the  farm-houses  on 
this  great  day  might  tempt  marauders — especially 
that  thief  or  madman  who  had  been  haunting  their 
own  premises.  She  hoped  the  police  would  not  for- 
get them  either.  But  Hastings'  offer  to  stay  till  the 
girls  came  back  from  the  Millsborough  crowds 
and  bands  at  about  nine  o'clock  quite  eased 
her  mind.  And  meanwhile  she  and  Hastings, 


24o  HARVEST 

as  had  been  agreed,  kept  their  anxieties  from 
Rachel. 

Rachel  went  off  at  twelve  o'clock  in  her  khaki  suit, 
driving  a  spirited  young  horse  in  a  high  cart,  which 
was  filled  with  farm  produce.  She  was  to  take  early 
dinner  with  some  new  friends,  and  then  to  go  and 
look  at  a  Jersey  cow  which  Janet  coveted,  in  a  farm 
on  the  other  side  of  Millsborough. 

"  Don't  wait  tea  for  me,"  she  said  to  Janet,  "  I 
shall  get  some  somewhere."  And  then  with  a  smile 
to  them  both  she  was  off.  Janet  stood  looking  after 
her,  lost  in  a  painful  uncertainty.  "  Can't  you  let 
it  alone  ?  "  Lord  Melbourne  was  accustomed  to  say 
suavely  to  those  members  of  the  Cabinet  who 
brought  him  grievances  or  scandals  that  wanted  see- 
ing to.  One  half  of  Janet's  mind  was  saying, 
"  Can't  you  let  it  alone  ?  "  to  the  other  half. 


XI 


THE  daylight  had  all  gone  when  Rachel  at  last 
got  into  her  cart  in  the  yard  of  the  Rose  and 
Thistle  at  Millsborough  and  took  the  reins. 
But  there  was  a  faint  moonrise  struggling  through 
the  mist  in  which  the  little  town  and  countryside 
were  shrouded.  And  in  the  town,  with  its  laughing 
and  singing  crowds,  its  bright  shop  windows,  its 
moist,  straggling  flags,  the  mist,  lying  gently  over 
the  old  houses,  the  moving  people,  the  flashes  and 
streamers  of  light,  was  extraordinarily  romantic  and 
beautifying. 

Rachel  drove  slowly  through  the  streets,  delight- 
ing in  the  noise  and  excitement,  in  the  sheer  new 
pleasure  of  everything,  the  world — human  beings — 
living — the  end  of  the  war.  And  out  among  the 
fields,  and  in  the  country  road,  the  November  sun 
was  still  beautiful;  what  with  the  pearly  mist,  and 
the  purple  shapes  of  the  forest-covered  hills.  She 
had  been  much  made  of  in  Millsborough.  People 
were  anxious  to  talk  to  her,  to  invite  her,  to  do  busi- 
ness with  her.  Her  engagement,  she  perceived,  had 
made  her  doubly  interesting.  She  was  going  to  be 

241 


242  -  HARVEST 

prosperous,  to  succeed — and  all  the  world  smiled 
upon  her. 

So  that  her  pulses  were  running  fast  as  she 
reached  Ipscombe,  where,  in  the  mild  fog,  a  few 
groups  were  standing  about,  and  a  few  doors  were 
open.  And  now — there  was  home  I — in  front  of 
her.  And — Heavens!  what  had  Janet  done? 
Rachel  pulled  up  the  horse,  and  sat  enchanted,  look- 
ing at  the  farm.  For  there  it  lay,  pricked  out  in 
light,  its  old  Georgian  lines  against  the  background 
of  the  hill.  Every  window  had  a  light  in  it — every 
blind  was  drawn  up — it  was  Janet's  illumination  for 
the  peace.  She  had  made  of  the  old  house  "  an 
insubstantial  faery  place,"  and  Rachel  laughed  for 
pleasure. 

Then  she  drove  eagerly  on  into  the  dark  tunnel 
of  trees  that  lay  between  her  and  the  house. 

Suddenly  a  shape  rushed  out  of  the  hedge  into 
the  light  of  the  lamps,  and  a  man  laid  a  violent 
hand  upon  the  horse's  reins.  The  horse  reared,  and 
Rachel  cried  out, — • 

;t What  are  you  doing?    Let  go!" 

But  the  man  held  the  struggling  horse,  at  once 
coercing  and  taming  it,  with  an  expert  hand.  A 
voice ! — that  sent  a  sudden  horror  through  Rachel, — 

"  Sit  where  you  are — hold  tight! — don't  be  a 
fool! — he'll  quiet  down." 


HARVEST  243 

She  sat  paralysed;  and,  still  holding  the  reins, 
though  the  trembling  horse  was  now  quiet,  a  man 
advanced  into  the  light  of  the  left-hand  lamp. 

"Well — do  you  know  me?"  he  said  quietly. 

She  struggled  for  breath  and  self-control. 

"  Let  those  reins  alone ! — what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

And  snatching  up  her  whip,  she  bent  forward. 
But  he  made  a  spring  at  it,  snatched  it  easily  with 
a  laugh,  and  broke  it. 

"  You  know  you  never  were  strong  enough  to  get 
the  better  of  me.  Why  do  you  try?  Don't  be  an 
idiot.  I  want  to  make  an  appointment  with  you. 
You  can't  escape  me.  I've  watched  you  for  weeks. 
And  see  you  alone,  too.  Without  that  fellow  you're 
engaged  to." 

Her  passion  rose,  in  spite  of  her  deadly  fear. 

"  He'll  take  care  of  that,"  she  said,  "  and  the 
police.  I'm  not  helpless  now — as  I  used  to  be." 

"  Ah,  but  you'd  better  see  me.  I've  got  a  great 
deal  to  say  that  concerns  you.  I  suppose  you've  told 
that  American  chap  a  very  pretty  story  about  our 
divorce?  Well,  it  took  me  a  long  time  to  get  to 
the  bottom  of  it  myself.  But  now  I'm — well,  dis- 
illusioned! " 

He  came  closer,  close  to  the  rail  of  the  cart  and 
the  lamp,  so  that  she  saw  clearly  the  haggard  wreck 


244  HARVEST 

of  what  once  had  been  Roger  Delane,  and  the  evil 
triumph  in  his  eyes. 

[<  Who  stayed  the  night  alone,  with  Dick  Tanner, 
on  his  place,  when  I  was  safely  got  rid  of?  "  he  said, 
in  a  low  but  clear  voice.  "  And  then  who  played 
the  innocent — who  did?  " 

"Liar!" 

"  Not  at  all.  I've  got  some  new  evidence  now — 
some  quite  fresh  light  on  the  scene — which  may  be 
useful  to  me.  I  want  money.  You  seem  to  have  a 
lot.  And  I  want  to  be  paid  back  a  little  of  what 
I'm  owed.  Oh,  I  can  hold  my  tongue,  if  it's  made 
worth  my  while.  I  don't  suppose  you've  told  your 
American  young  man  anything  about  Dick  Tanner 
—eh?" 

"  Let  go  the  horse !  "  she  said  fiercely,  trying  to 
recapture  the  reins.  '  You've  nothing  to  do  with 
me  any  more." 

"  Haven't  I  ?  Oh,  by  all  means  tell  your  Yankee 
that  I've  waylaid  you.  I  shouldn't  at  all  object  to 
an  interview  with  him.  In  fact,  I  rather  think  of 
asking  for  it.  But  if  you  want  to  prevent  it,  you've 
got  to  do  what  you're  told." 

He  came  closer,  and  spoke  with  slow  emphasis. 
You've  got  to  arrange  a  time — when  I  can  see 
you — alone f  When  shall  it  be?" 

Silence.     But  far  ahead  there  were  sounds  as  of 


HARVEST  245 

some  one  approaching.  Delane  leapt  on  the  step 
of  the  cart. 

"  This  is  Monday.  Wednesday  night — get  rid 
of  everybody!  You  can  do  it  if  you  like.  I  shall 
come  at  nine.  You've  got  to  let  me  in." 

Her  white,  quivering  face  was  all  his  answer. 

"  Don't  forget,"  he  said,  jumping  down.  "  Good- 
night! " 

And  in  a  second  he  was  gone,  where,  she  could 
not  tell. 

The  reins  fell  from  her  grasp.  She  leant  back 
in  the  cart,  half  fainting.  The  horse,  finding  the 
reins  on  his  neck,  strayed  to  the  grassy  side  of  the 
road,  and  began  grazing.  A  short  time  passed.  In 
another  minute  or  two  the  left  wheel  would  have 
gone  done  into  a  deep  ditch. 

"  Hallo !  "  .  cried  a  man's  voice.  "  What  the 
matter?" 

Rachel  tried  to  rouse  herself,  but  could  only  mur- 
mur inarticulately.  The  man  jumped  off  his  bicycle, 
propped  it  against  a  tree,  and  came  running  to  her. 

He  saw  a  woman,  in  a  khaki  felt  hat  and  khaki 
dress,  sitting  hunched  up  in  a  fainting  state  on  the 
seat  of  a  light  cart.  He  was  just  in  time  to  catch 
the  horse  and  turn  it  back  to  the  road.  Then  in  his 
astonishment  John  Dempsey  altogether  forgot 
himself. 


246  HARVEST 

"  Don't  be  frightened,  Mrs.  Delane !  Why, 
you've  had  a  faint.  But  never  mind.  Cheer  upl 
I'll  get  you  home  safe." 

And  Rachel,  reviving,  opened  her  heavy  eyes  to 
see  stooping  over  her  the  face  of  the  lad  in  the 
hooded  cart  whom  she  had  last  seen  in  the  night  of 
that  November  snowstorm,  two  years  before. 

"  What  did  you  say?  "  she  asked  stupidly.  Then, 
raising  herself,  with  an  instinctive  gesture  she 
smoothed  back  her  hair  from  her  face,  and  straight- 
ened her  hat.  "  Thank  you,  I'm  all  right." 

Dempsey's  mouth  as  he  retreated  from  her  shaped 
itself  to  an  involuntary  grin. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am — but  I  think  I've 
seen  you  in  Canada.  Didn't  I  once  come  to  your 
place,  with  a  parcel  from  Mr.  Grimes — that  was  my 
employer — of  Redminster?  I  remember  you  had 
a  Jap  servant.  And  there  was  another  time,  I 
think  " — the  lad's  eyes  fixed  her,  contracted  a  little, 
and  sharp  with  curiosity — "  when  you  and  Mr.  Dick 
Tanner  gave  me  that  fizzling  hot  coffee — don't  you 
remember? — in  that  awful  blizzard  two  years  ago? 
And  Mr.  Tanner  gave  the  horses  a  feed,  too. 
Awfully  good  chap,  Mr.  Tanner.  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  without  that 
coffee." 

Rachel  was  still  deathly  white,  but  she  had  re- 


HARVEST  247 

covered  possession  of  heVself,  and  her  mind  was 
working  madly  through  a  score  of  possibilities. 

"  You're  quite  mistaken,"  she  said  coldly,  "  I 
never  saw  you  before  that  I  am  aware  of.  Please 
let  go  the  reins.  I  can  manage  now  quite  well.  I 
don't  know  what  made  me  feel  ill.  I'm  all  right 


now." 


'  You've  got  the  reins  twisted  round  the  shaft, 
miss,"  said  Dempsey  officiously.  '  You'd  better  let 
me  put  'em  right." 

And  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  began  to  dis- 
entangle them,  not  without  a  good  deal  of  fidgeting 
from  the  horse,  which  delayed  him.  His  mouth 
twitched  with  laughter  as  he  bent  over  the  shaft. 
Deny  that  she  was  Mrs.  Delane  !  That  was  a  good 
one.  Why,  now  that  he  had  seen  her  close,  he  could 
swear  to  her  anywhere. 

Rachel  watched  him,  her  senses  sharpening 
rapidly.  Only  a  few  minutes  since  Roger  had  been 
there — and  now,  this  man.  Had  they  met?  Was 
there  collusion  between  them?  There  must  be. 
How  else  could  Roger  know?  No  one  else  in  the 
world  but  this  youth  could  have  given  him  the  in- 
formation. She  recalled  the  utter  solitude  of  the 
snow-bound  farm — the  heavy  drifts — no  human  be- 
ing but  Dick  and  herself — till  that  evening  when  the 
new  snow  was  all  hard  frozen,  and  they  two 


248    i  HARVEST 

had  sleighed  back  under  the  moon  to  her  own 
door. 

What  to  do?    She  seemed  to  see  her  course. 

"What  is  your  name?"  she  asked  him,  endeav- 
ouring to  speak  in  her  ordinary  voice,  and  bending 
over  the  front  of  the  cart,  she  spoke  to  the  horse, 
"Quiet,  Jack,  quiet!  " 

".My  name's  John  Dempsey,  ma'am."  He  looked 
up,  and  then  quickly  withdrew  his  eyes.  She  saw 
the  twitching  smile  that  he  now  could  hardly  restrain. 
By  this  time  he  had  straightened  the  reins,  which 
she  gathered  up. 

"  It's  curious,"  she  said,  "  but  you're  not  the  first 
person  who's  mistaken  me  for  that  Mrs.  Delane.  I 
knew  something  about  her.  I  don't  want  to  be  mis- 
taken for  her." 

"  I  see,"  said  Dempsey. 

"  I  would  rather  you  didn't  speak  about  it  in  the 
village — or  anywhere.  You  see,  one  doesn't  like  to 
be  confused  with  some  people.  I  didn't  like  Mrs. 
Delane." 

The  lad  looked  up  grinning. 

"  She  got  divorced,  didn't  she  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say.  I  knew  very  little  about  her.  But, 
as  I  said,  I  don't  want  to  be  mistaken  for  her." 

Then,  tying  the  reins  to  the  cart,  she  jumped 
down  and  stood  beside  him. 


HARVEST  249 

His  hand  went  instinctively  to  the  horse's  mouth, 
holding  the  restive  animal  still. 

"  And  I  should  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  if 
you  would  keep  what  you  thought  about  me  to  your- 
self. I  don't  want  you  to  talk  about  it  in  the  village 
or  anywhere.  Come  up  and  see  me — at  the  farm — 
and  I'll  tell  you  why  I  dislike  being  mixed  up  with 
that  woman — why,  in  fact,  I  should  mind  it  dread- 
fully. I  can't  explain  now,  but " 

The  young  man  was  fairly  dazzled  by  the  beauty 
of  the  sudden  flush  on  her  pale  cheeks,  of  her  large 
pleading  eyes,  her  soft  voice.  And  this — as  old 
Betts  had  only  that  afternoon  told  him — was  the 
lady  engaged  to  his  own  superior  officer,  Captain 
Ellesborough,  the  Commandant  of  Ralstone  Camp, 
whom  he  heartily  admired,  and  stood  in  considerable 
awe  of!  His  vanity,  of  which  he  possessed  so  large 
a  share,  was  much  tickled;  but,  also,  his  feelings 
were  touched. 

"  Why,  of  course,  ma'am,  won't  say  anything.  I 
didn't  mean  any  harm." 

"  All  right,"  said  Rachel,  scrambling  back  to  her 
seat.  "  If  you  like  to  come  up  to-morrow  morning, 
I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you.  It's  a  bargain,  mind !  " 

He  saluted,  smiling.  She  nodded  to  him,  and 
drove  off. 

"  Well,  that's  the  rummiest  go !  "  said  the  be- 


250  HARVEST 

wildered  Dempsey  to  himself,  as  he  walked  towards 
his  bicycle.  "  Mistake  be  damned!  She  was  Mrs. 
Delane,  and  what's  she  up  to  now  with  my 
captain?  And  what  the  deuce  was  she  doing  at 
Tanner's?  " 

Never  did  a  person  feel  himself  more  vastly  im- 
portant than  Dempsey  as  he  bicycled  back  to  the  Ral- 
stone  camp,  whence  he  had  started  in  the  morning, 
after  the  peace  news,  to  go  and  see  a  cousin  living 
some  distance  beyond  Great  End  Farm.  To  be  his 
grandfather's  grandson  was  much — but  this! 

Rachel  drove,  with  hands  unconscious  of  the  reins, 
along  the  road  and  up  the  farm  lane  leading  through 
her  own  fields.  The  world  swam  around  her  in  the 
mist,  but  there,  still  in  front  of  her,  lay  the  illumi- 
nated farm,  a  house  of  light  standing  in  air.  As  she 
neared  it,  the  front  door  opened  and  sounds  of  sing- 
ing and  laughter  came  out. 

The  "  Marseillaise " !  Allans,  enfants  de  la 
patrief — Janet  was  playing  it,  singing  vigorously  her- 
self, and  trying  to  teach  the  two  girls  the  French 
words,  a  performance  which  broke  down  every  other 
minute  in  helpless  laughter  from  all  three.  Mean- 
while, Hastings,  who  had  been  standing  behind  the 
singers,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  a  rare  and  shame- 
faced pleasure  shining  from  his  care-worn  face, 
thought  he  heard  the  cart,  and  looked  out.  Yes,  it 


HARVEST  251 

was  the  Missis,  as  he  liked  to  call  Miss  Henderson, 
and  he  ran  down  to  meet  her. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  there  were  fine  doings  at  Mills- 
borough,  Miss,"  he  said,  as  he  held  the  horse  for 
her  to  get  down. 

'  Yes — there  were  a  lot  of  people.  It  was  very 
noisy." 

'  We  thought  you'd  hear  our  noise,  Miss,  as  far 
as  the  road!  Miss  Leighton,  she's  been  keeping 
us  all  alive.  She  took  the  girls  to  church — to  the 
.Thanksgiving  Service,  while  I  looked  after  things." 

u  All  right,  Hastings,"  said  Miss  Henderson,  in 
a  voice  that  struck  his  ear  strangely.  "  Thank  you. 
Will  you  take  the  cart?  " 

He  thought  as  he  led  the  horse  away,  "  She's  been 
overdoin'  it  again.  The  Cap'n  will  tell  her  so." 

Rachel  climbed  the  little  slope  to  the  front  door. 
It  seemed  an  Alp.  Presently  she  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  the  sitting-room,  in  her  thick  fur  coat, 
looking  at  the  group  round  the  piano.  Janet  glanced 
round,  laughing.  "  Come  and  join  in!  "  And  they 
all  struck  up  "  God  Save  the  King " — a  comely 
group  in  the  lamplight,  Jenny  and  Betty  lifting  their 
voices  lustily.  But  they  seemed  to  Rachel  to  be 
playing  some  silly  game  which  she  did  not  under- 
stand. She  closed  the  door  and  went  upstairs  to  her 
own  room.  It  was  cold  and  dark.  She  lit  a  candle, 


252  HARVEST 

and  her  own  face,  transformed,  looked  at  her  from 
the  glass  on  the  dressing-table.  She  gave  a  weary, 
half-reflective  sigh.  "  Shall  I  be  like  that  when 
I'm  old?" 

She  took  off  her  things,  and  changed  mechanically 
into  an  afternoon  dress,  her  mind,  like  a  hunted 
thing,  running  hither  and  thither  all  the  time. 

Presently  she  got  up  and  locked  the  door.  She 
must  think — think — by  herself. 

It  would  be  quite  easy  to  defy  Roger — quite  easy 
to  lie,  and  lie  successfully,  if  only  she  was  sure  of 
herself,  and  her  own  will  to  carry  things  through. 
Roger  could  prove  nothing — or  that  vulgar  boy — 
or  anybody.  She  had  only  to  say,  "  I  went  to  find 
Lucy  Tanner,  who  was  my  friend — she  wasn't  there 
— I  was  overtaken  by  the  storm — and  Dick  Tanner 
looked  after  me  till  I  could  get  home." 

It  was  the  most  natural — the  most  plausible  story. 
If  Delane  forced  himself  on  George  with  any  vile 
tale,  Ellesborough  would  probably  give  him  in 
charge  for  molesting  his  former  wife.  There  was 
absolutely  nothing  to  fear,  if  she  handled  the  thing 
in  a  bold,  common-sense  way,  and  told  a  consistent 
and  clever  lie. 

And  yet,  she  had  weakly  made  appointments  with 
both  her  tormentors! — made  it  plain  to  them  that 
she  was  afraid !  She  called  herself  a  coward,  and  a 
fool — and  then  as  she  leant  her  head  against  the 


HARVEST  253 

side  of  her  bed,  the  tears  ran  down  her  face,  and 
her  heart  cried  out  for  Ellesborough. 

"  How  can  I  go  on  lying  to  him — now — and  all 
my  life?  "  It  was  the  same  cry  as  before,  but  more 
intense,  more  passionate  with  every  day's  living. 
The  need  for  lying  had  now  doubled;  yet  her  will 
could  less  and  less  steel  itself  to  it,  because  of  sheer 
love  and  remorse  towards  the  man  who  loved  her. 

"  He  would  forgive  me.  I  know  he  would — I 
know  he  would !  "  she  kept  on  murmuring  to  herself, 
while  her  eyes  rained  in  the  semi-darkness. 

Yes,  but  it  would  change  everything!  Their  love 
— his  feeling  towards  her — could  never  be  the  same 
again.  After  Roger  Delane — Dick  Tanner.  Why 
not  another — and  another?  Would  he  not  always 
be  watching  her,  dreading  some  new  discovery !  sus- 
pecting her,  even  while  he  loved  her? 

No.  She  must  choke  off  Delane — with  money — 
the  only  way.  And  invent  some  story — some  bribe, 
too — for  that  odious  young  man  who  had  caught 
her  unawares. 

So  again  she  hardened  herself,  despairingly.  It 
could  not  be  allowed  her — the  balm  and  luxury  of 
confession!  It  was  too  dangerous.  Her  all 
was  in  it. 

Meanwhile,  the  singing  continued  below.  Janet 
had  struck  up  "  Tipperary,"  and  the  small  flute-like 


254  HARVEST 

voices  of  the  girls,  supported  by  her  harsher  one, 
mounted  joyously  through  every  crevice  of  the 
slightly-built  house. 

"  It's  a  long,  long  way  to  Tipperary, 
And  my  heart's  right  there." 

The  beautiful  tune,  interwoven  for  our  generation 
with  all  that  is  most  poignant  in  its  life,  beat  on 
Rachel's  nerves.  It  was  being  sung  all  over  England 
that  Armistice  Day,  as  it  had  been  sung  in  the  first 
days  of  the  war,  joyously,  exultingly,  yet  with  catch- 
ing breath.  There  was  in  it  more  than  thousands 
of  men  and  women  dared  to  probe,  whether  of  joy 
or  sorrow.  They  sang  it,  with  a  sob  in  the  throat. 
To  Rachel,  also,  sunk  in  her  own  terrors,  it  was 
almost  unbearable.  The  pure  unspoilt  passion  of  it 
— the  careless,  confident  joy — seemed  to  make  an 
outcast  of  her,  as  she  sat  there  in  the  dark,  dragged 
back  by  the  shock  and  horror  of  Delane's  appear- 
ance into  the  slime  and  slough  of  old  memories,  and 
struggling  with  them  in  vain.  Yes,  she  was  "  dam- 
aged goods  " — she  was  unfit  to  marry  George  Elles- 
borough.  But  she  would  marry  him!  She  set  her 
teeth — clinging  to  him  with  all  the  energy  of  a 
woman's  deepening  and  maturing  consciousness. 
She  had  been  a  weak  and  self-willed  child  when  she 


HARVEST  255 

married  Delane — when  she  spent  those  half 
miserable,  half  wild  days  and  nights  with  Dick 
Tanner.  Now  she  trusted  a  good  man — now  she 
looked  up  and  adored.  Her  weakness  was  safe  in 
the  care  of  George  Ellesborough's  strength.  Well, 
then,  let  her  fight  for  her  love. 

Presently  Janet  knocked  at  the  door.  The  sing- 
ing downstairs  had  ceased. 

"  Are  you  tired,  Rachel?    Can't  I  help  you?  " 
"  Just  a  bit  tired.     I'm  resting.     I'll  be  down 
directly." 

But  the  interruption  had  started  fresh  anxieties 
in  her  mind.  She  had  paid  the  most  perfunctory  at- 
tention to  the  few  words  Janet  had  said  about  Demp- 
sey's  call  at  the  farm,  two  nights  before.  She 
understood  at  the  time  that  he  had  come  to  chatter 
about  the  murder,  and  was  very  glad  that  she  had 
been  out  of  the  way. 

But  now — what  was  it  that  he  had  said  to  Janet — 
and  why  had  Janet  said  so  little  about  his  visit? 

Instead  of  resting  she  walked  incessantly  up  and 
down.  This  uncertainty  about  Janet  teased  her;  but 
after  all  it  was  nothing  to  that  other  mystery — how 
did  Roger  know  ? — and  to  the  strange  and  bewilder- 
ing effect  of  the  juxtaposition  of  the  two  men — their 
successive  appearance  in  the  darkness  within — what? 


256  HARVEST 

— ten  minutes? — a  quarter  of  an  hour? — while  the 
cloud  was  on  her  own  brain — without  apparently 
any  connection  between  them — and  relevance  to  each 
other.  There  must  have  been  some  connection! 
And  yet  there  had  been  no  sign  of  any  personal 
knowledge  of  Roger  Delane  in  Dempsey's  talk;  and 
no  reference  whatever  to  Dempsey  in  Delane's. 

She  went  down  to  supper,  very  flushed  and  on 
edge.  Little  Jenny  eyed  her  surreptitiously.  For 
the  first  time  the  child's  raw  innocence  was  disturbed 
or  jealous.  What  did  John  Dempsey  want  with  call- 
ing on  Miss  Henderson — and  why  had  he  made  a 
rather  teasing  mystery  of  it  to  her,  Jenny? 
"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  know,  Miss  Inquisitive  ?  " 
Yes,  Jenny  would  like  to  know.  Of  course  Miss 
Henderson  was  engaged  to  Captain  Ellesborough, 
and  all  that.  But  that  was  no  reason  why  she  should 
carry  off  Jenny's  "  friend,"  as  well  as  her  own. 
Jenny's  heart  swelled  within  her  as  she  watched  Miss 
Henderson  from  the  other  end  of  the  table.  Yes, 
of  course,  she  was  nice-looking,  and  her  clothes  were 
nice.  Jenny  thought  that  she  would  get  a  new  best 
dress  soon,  now  that  peace  was  come;  and  a  new 
hat  with  a  high  silk  crown  to  match  the  dress. 
Dempsey  had  admired  a  hat  like  that  on  a  girl  in 
the  village.  He  had  said  it  was  "  real  smart."  And 
to  be  "  smart  "  Jenny  thought  was  to  be  happy. 


HARVEST  257 

After  supper,  Janet  and  the  girls  washed  up  and 
put  all  tidy  for  the  night.  Rachel  worked  at  ac- 
counts in  the  sitting-room.  She  had  sold  the  last  hay 
she  had  to  spare  wonderfully  well,  and  potatoes 
showed  a  good  profit.  Threshing  charges  were  very 
high,  and  wages — appalling!  But  on  the  whole, 
they  were  doing  very  well.  Janet's  Jersey  cow  had 
been  expensive,  but  they  could  afford  her. 

They  had  never  yet  drawn  out  so  good  an  in- 
terim balance  sheet  without  delight,  and  rosy  dreams 
for  the  future.  Now  her  mood  was  leaden,  and  she 
pushed  the  papers  aside  impatiently.  As  she  was 
sitting  with  her  hands  round  her  knees,  staring  into 
the  fire,  or  at  the  chair  where  Ellesborough  had  sat 
while  she  told  her  story,  Janet  came  into  the  room. 
She  paused  at  the  door,  and  Rachel  did  not  see  her 
look  of  sudden  alarm  as  she  perceived  Rachel's  at- 
titude of  depression.  Then  she  came  up  to  the 
fire.  The  two  girls  could  be  heard  laughing  over- 
head. 

"  So  my  cow's  a  good  one  ?  "  she  said,  with  her 
pleasant  voice  and  smile. 

"  A  beauty,"  said  Rachel,  looking  up,  and  recapit- 
ulating the  points  and  yield  of  the  Jersey. 

Janet  gave  a  shrug — implying  a  proper  scepti- 
cism. 

"It  doesn't  seem  to  be  quite  as  easy  to  tell  lies 


258  HARVEST 

about  cows  as  about  horses,"  she  said,  laughing; 
"  that's  about  all  one  can  say.  We'll  hope  for  the 
best."  Then — after  a  moment, — • 

"  I  never  told  you  much  about  that  man  Demp- 
sey's  visit.  Of  course  he  came  to  see  you.  He 
thought  when  he  saw  you  at  Millsborough  that  you 
were  a  Mrs.  Delane  he  had  seen  in  Canada.  Were 
you  perhaps  a  relation  of  hers?  I  said  I  would  ask 
you.  Then  I  inquired  how  often  he  had  seen  Mrs. 
Delane.  He  said  twice — perhaps  three  times — at 
her  home — at  a  railway  station — and  at  a  farm  be- 
longing to  a  man  called  Tanner." 

u  Yes,"  said  Rachel,  indifferently.  "  I  knew  Lucy 
Tanner,  his  sister.  She  was  an  artist  like  him.  I 
liked  them  both." 

There  was  silence.  In  Rachel's  breast  there  was 
beating  a  painful  tide  of  speech  that  longed  to  find 
its  way  to  freedom — but  it  was  gripped  and  thrust 
back  by  her  will.  There  was  something  in  Janet  as 
in  Ellesborough  that  wooed  her  heart,  that  seemed 
to  promise  help. 

But  nothing  more  passed,  of  importance.  Janet, 
possessed  by  vague,  yet,  as  they  seemed  to  herself, 
quite  unreasonable  anxieties,  gave  some  further 
scornful  account  of  Dempsey's  murder  talk,  to  which 
Rachel  scarcely  listened;  then  she  said,  as  she  turned 
to  take  up  her  knitting, — 


HARVEST  259 

"  I'm  going  over  to-morrow  to  a  little  service — a 
Thanksgiving  service — at  Millsborough.  I  took 
the  girls  to  church  to-day — but  I  love  my  own  peo- 
ple !  "  Her  face  glowed  a  little. 

"  Unitarian  service,  you  mean?  " 

"  Yes — we've  got  a  little  '  cause  '  there,  and  a 
minister.  The  service  will  be  about  six,  I  think. 
The  girls  will  manage.  The  minister  and  his  wife 
want  me  to  stay  to  supper — but  I  shall  be  back  in 
good  time." 

"About  ten?" 

"  Oh,  yes — quite  by  then.    I  shall  bicycle." 

Through  Rachel's  mind  there  passed  a  thrill  of 
relief.  So  Janet  would  be  out  of  the  way.  One  diffi- 
culty removed.  Now,  to  get  rid  of  the  girls? 

Rachel  scarcely  slept,  and  the  November  day 
broke  grey  and  misty  as  before.  After  breakfast 
she  went  out  into  the  fields.  Old  Halsey  was  mole- 
catching  in  one  of  them.  But  instead  of  going  to 
inspect  him  and  his  results,  she  slipped  through  a  tall 
hedge,  and  paced  the  road  under  its  shelter,  looking 
for  Dempsey. 

On  the  stroke  of  eleven  she  saw  him  in  the  dis- 
tance. He  came  up  with  the  same  look,  half  em- 
barrassed, half  inclining  to  laugh,  that  he  had  worn 
the  day  before.  Rachel,  on  the  other  hand,  was 


260  HARVEST 

entirely  at  her  ease,  and  the  young  man  felt  her  at 
once  his  intellectual  and  social  superior. 

"  You  seem  to  have  saved  me  and  my  horse  from 
a  tumble  into  that  ditch  last  night,"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh,  as  she  greeted  him.  "  Why  I  turned  faint 
like  that  I  can't  imagine.  I  do  sometimes  when  I'm 
tired.  Well,  now  then — let  us  walk  up  the  road  a 
little." 

With  her  hands  in  her  pockets  she  led  the  way. 
In  her  neat  serge  suit  and  cap,  she  was  the  woman- 
farmer  —  prosperous  and  competent  —  all  over. 
Dempsey's  thoughts  threw  back  in  bewilderment  to 
the  fainting  figure  of  the  night  before.  He  walked 
on  beside  her  in  silence. 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  said  Miss  Henderson 
calmly — "  because  I'm  sure  you're  a  nice  fellow,  and 
don't  want  to  hurt  anybody's  feelings — why  I  asked 
you  to  hold  your  tongue  about  Mrs.  Delane.  In  the 
first  place,  you're  quite  mistaken  about  myself.  I 
was  never  at  Mr.  Tanner's  farm — never  in  that  part 
of  Canada;  and  the  person  you  saw  there — Mrs. 
Delane — was  a  very  favourite  cousin  of  mine,  and 
extraordinarily  like  me.  When  we  were  children 
everybody  talked  of  the  likeness.  She  had  a  very 
sad  story,  and  now — she's  dead."  The  speaker's 
voice  dropped.  "  I've  been  confused  with  her  be- 
fore— and  it's  a  great  trouble  to  me.  The  con- 


HARVEST  261 

fusion  has  done  me  harm,  more  than  once,  and  I'm 
very  sensitive  about  it.  So,  as  I  said  last  night,  I 
should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  would  not  only  not 
spread  the  story,  but  deny  it,  whenever  you  can." 

She  looked  at  him  sharply,  and  he  coloured 
crimson. 

"  Of  course,"  he  stammered,  "  I  should  like  to  do 
anything  you  wish." 

"  I  do  wish  it,  and "  — she  paused  a  moment, 

as  though  to  think — "  and  Captain  Ellesborough 
wishes  it.  I  would  not  advise  you,  however,  to  say 
anything  at  all  about  it  to  him.  But  if  you  do  what 
we  ask  you,  you  may  be  sure  we  shall  find  some 
way — some  substantial  way — of  showing  that  we  ap- 
preciate it." 

They  walked  on,  she  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground 
as  though  she  were  thinking  out  some  plan  for  his 
benefit — he  puzzled  and  speechless. 

;'  What  do  you  want  to  do,  now  the  war's  over?  " 
she  said  at  last,  with  a  smile,  looking  up. 

"  I  suppose  I  want  to  settle  down — somewhere — 
on  land,  if  I  had  the  money." 

"  Here  ? — or  in  Canada  ?  " 

"  Oh,  at  home." 

"  I  thought  so.  Well,  Mr.  Dempsey,  Captain 
Ellesborough  and  I  shall  be  quite  ready  to  help  you 
in  any  scheme  you  take  up.  You  understand?  " 


262  HARVEST 

"  That's  awfully  kind  of  you — but " 

"  Quite  ready,"  she  repeated.  "  Let  me  know 
what  your  plans  are  when  you've  worked  them  out 
— and  I'll  see  what  can  be  done."  Then  she  stopped. 
There  was  a  gate  near  into  one  of  her  own  fields. 
Their  eyes  met — hers  absolutely  cool  and  smiling — 
his  wavering  and  excited. 

"  You  understand?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Oh,  yes — I  understand." 

"And  you  agree?"  she  added,  emphasizing  the 
words. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I— I— agree." 

;<  Well,  then,  that's  all  right — that's  understood. 
A  letter  will  always  find  me  here.  And  now  I  must 
get  back  to  my  work.  Good-morning." 

And  with  a  nod,  she  slipped  through  the  gate,  and 
was  half  way  across  the  fallow  on  the  other  side  of 
it  before  he  had  realized  that  their  strange  conversa- 
tion was  at  an  end. 


XII 


THE  vicar  and  his  sister  Eleanor  were  sitting 
at  breakfast  in  the  small  Georgian  house, 
which,  as  the  vicarage,  played  a  still  im- 
portant part  in  the  village  of  Ipscombe.  The 
Church  may  be  in  a  bad  way,  as  her  own  children 
declare ;  revolution  may  be  in  sight,  as  our  English 
Bolshevists  love  to  believe — not  too  seriously;  but 
meanwhile,  if  a  stranger  in  any  normal  English 
village  wants  to  lay  his  finger  on  the  central 
ganglion  of  its  various  activities,  he  will  still  look 
for  the  church  arid  the  vicarage — or  rectory,  as 
the  case  may  be.  If  the  parson  is  bad  or  feeble,  the 
pulse  of  the  village  life  will  show  it;  and  if  he  is 
energetic  and  self-devoted,  his  position  will  give  him 
a  power  in  the  community — power,  tempered  of 
course  by  the  necessary  revolts  and  reactions  which 
keep  the  currents  of  life  flowing — not  to  be  easily 
attained  by  other  energetic  and  self-devoted  persons. 
The  parson  may  still  easily  make  himself  a  tyrant, 
but  only  to  find,  in  the  language  of  the  Greek  poet, 
that  it  was  "  folly  even  to  wish  "  to  tyrannize. 
The  vicar  had  come  downstairs  that  morning  in 
263 


264  HARVEST 

a  mood  of  depression,  irritable — almost  snappish 
depression.  His  sister  Eleanor  had  seldom  seen  him 
so  unlike  himself.  Being  an  affectionate  sister,  she 
was  sorry  for  him ;  though,  as  she  rightly  guessed,  it 
was  that  very  news  which  had  brought  such  great 
relief  of  mind  to  herself  which  was  almost  certainly 
responsible  for  her  brother's  gloom.  Miss  Hender- 
son was  engaged  to  Captain  Ellesborough.  There 
was  therefore  no  question  of  her  becoming  Mrs. 
Shenstone,  and  a  weight  was  lifted  from  the  spirits 
of  the  vicar's  sister.  Towards  Rachel,  Eleanor 
Shenstone  felt  one  of  those  instinctive  antipathies  of 
life  which  are  far  more  decisive  than  any  of  the  ordi- 
nary causes  of  quarrel.  Miss  Shenstone  was  thin, 
methodical,  devoted;  of  small  speech  and  great 
virtue.  Such  persons  so  securely  anchored  and  self- 
determined  can  have  but  small  sympathy  for  the 
drifters  of  this  world.  And  that  Rachel  Henderson 
was — at  least  as  compared  with  herself  and  her 
few  cherished  friends — morally  and  religiously 
adrift,  Miss  Shenstone  had  decided  after  half  an 
hour's  conversation. 

The  vicar  knew  perfectly  well  that  his  sister  was 
relieved.  It  was  that  which  had  secretly  affected  a 
naturally  sweet  temper.  He  was  suffering  besides 
from  a  haunting  sense  of  contrast  between  these 
rainy  November  days,  and  the  glowing  harvest 


HARVEST  265 

weeks  in  which  he  had  worked  like  a  navvy  for  and 
with  Rachel  Henderson.  It  was  over,  of  course. 
None  of  the  nice  things  of  life  ever  came  his  way 
for  long.  But  he  did  feel  rather  sorely  that  during 
his  short  spell  of  favour  with  her,  Miss  Henderson 
had  encouraged  him  a  good  deal.  She  had  raised 
him  up — only  to  cast  him  down.  He  thought  of  her 
smiles,  and  her  sudden  softness,  of  the  warm  grip 
of  her  hand,  and  the  half  mocking,  half  inviting  look 
in  her  eyes,  with  the  feeling  of  a  child  shut  out  from 
a  garden  where  he  well  knows  the  ripe  apples  are 
hanging;  only  not  for  him.  The  atmosphere  of  sex 
which  environed  her — was  it  not  that  which  had  be- 
guiled the  vicar,  while  it  had  repelled  his  sister? 
And  yet  Eleanor  Shenstone  did  most  honestly  wish 
her  brother  to  marry — only  not — not  anything  so 
tempting,  troubling,  and  absorbing  as  Rachel 
Henderson. 

"  Haven't  we  a  tiresome  meeting  to-night?"  said 
the  vicar  with  an  impatient  sigh,  as  he  sat  languidly 
down  to  the  couple  of  sardines  which  were  all  his 
sister  had  allowed  him  for  breakfast. 
1  Yes — Miss  Hall  is  coming  to  speak." 
Miss  Hall  was  a  lady  who  spoke  prodigiously  on 
infant  welfare,  and  had  a  way  of  producing  a  great, 
but  merely  temporary  effect  on  the  mothers  of  the 
village.     They  would  listen  in  a  frightened  silence 


266  'HARVEST 

V 

while  she  showed  them  on  a  blackboard  the  terrify- 
ing creatures  that  had  their  dwelling  in  milk,  and 
what  a  fly  looks  like  when  it  is  hideously — and  in  the 
mothers'  opinion  most  unnecessarily — magnified. 
But  when  she  was  gone  came  reaction.  "  How  can 
she  know  aught  about  it — havin'  none  of  her  own?  " 
said  the  village  contemptuously.  None  the  less  the 
village  ways  were  yielding,  insensibly,  little  by  little ; 
and  the  Miss  Halls  were  after  all  building  better 
than  they  knew. 

The  vicar,  however,  always  had  to  take  the  chair 
at  Miss  Hall's  meetings,  and  he  was  secretly  sick  and 
tired  of  babies,  their  weights,  their  foods,  their  feed- 
ing-bottles, and  everything  concerned  with  them. 
His  sister  considered  himl  and  like  a  wise  woman, 
offered  him  something  sweet  to  make  up  for  the 
bitter. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  possibly  take  a  note  for 
me  to  Miss  Leighton  this  morning — when  you  go  to 
see  old  Frant?  " 

"  Old  Frant "  was  a  labourer  on  the  point  of 
death  to  whom  the  vicar  was  ministering. 

He  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  Great  End's  hardly  in  old  Frant's  direction." 

Camouflage,  of  course.  Miss  Shenstone  under- 
stood perfectly. 

"  It  won't  take  you  far  out  of  your  way.    I  want 


HARVEST  267 

Miss  Leighton  to  send  those  two  girls  to  the 
Armistice  dance  to-night  if  they'd  like  to  come. 
Lady  Alicia  writes  that  several  of  her  maids  are 
down  with  the  flu.,  and  she  asks  me  to  give  away 
two  or  three  more  tickets." 

"  Why  doesn't  Lady  Alicia  let  the  servants  man- 
age the  thing  themselves  when  she  gives  them  a 
party?  They  ought  to  invite.  I  wouldn't  be  bossed 
if  I  were  they,"  said  the  vicar,  with  vivacity. 

"  She's  so  particular  about  character,  dear." 

"  So  would  they  be.  She  hasn't  been  so  very  suc- 
cessful in  her  own  case." 

For  the  Shepherds'  eldest  daughter  had  just  been 
figuring  in  a  divorce  case  to  the  distress  of  the  Shep- 
herds' neighbours. 

Miss  Shenstone  showed  patience. 

"  I'll  have  the  note  ready  directly." 

And  when  it  was  ready,  the  vicar  took  it  like  a 
lamb.  He  walked  first  to  Great  End,  meditating  as 
he  went  on  Miss  Henderson's  engagement.  He  had 
foreseen  it,  of  course,  since  the  day  of  the  Mills- 
borough  "  rally."  A  fine  fellow,  no  doubt — with  the 
great  advantage  of  khaki.  But  it  was  to  be  hoped  we 
were  not  going  to  be  altogether  overrun  with  Ameri- 
cans— carrying  off  English  women. 

At  the  gate  of  the  farm  stood  a  cart  into  which 
two  young  calves  had  just  been  packed.  Hastings 


268  HARVEST 

was  driving  it,  and  Rachel  Henderson,  who  had  just 
adjusted  the  net  over  the  fidgety  frightened  crea- 
tures, was  talking  to  him. 

She  greeted  Shenstone  rather  shyly.  It  was  quite 
true  that  in  the  early  stages  of  her  acquaintance  with 
Ellesborough  she  had  amused  herself  a  good  deal 
with  the  vicar.  And  in  his  note  of  congratulation  to 
her  on  her  engagement,  she  had  detected  just  the 
slightest  touch  of  reproach. 

"  I  wish  I  had  guessed  it  sooner."  That  meant, 
perhaps — "  Why  did  you  make  a  fool  of  me?  " 

Meanwhile  Miss  Shenstone's  note  was  duly  de- 
livered, and  Rachel,  holding  it  in  her  hand,  opened 
the  wicket  gate. 

"Won't  you  come  in?" 

"  Oh,  no,  I  mustn't  waste  your  time,"  said  the 
vicar,  with  dignity.  "  Perhaps  you'll  give  me  a 
verbal  answer." 

Rachel  opened  the  note,  and  the  vicar  was  puzzled 
by  the  look  which  crossed  her  face  as  she  read  it. 
It  was  a  look  of  relief — as  though  something 
fitted  in. 

1  Very  kind  of  Lady  Alicia.  Of  course  the  girls 
shall  come.  They  will  be  delighted.  You  really 
won't  come  in?  Then  I'll  walk  to  the  road  with 
you." 

What  was  the  change  in  her?     The  vicar  per- 


HARVEST  269 

ceived  something  indefinable;  and  before  they  had 
walked  half  the  distance  to  the  road  he  had  for- 
gotten his  own  grievance.  She  looked  ill.  Janet 
Leighton,  meeting  him  in  the  village  a  few  days 
before,  had  talked  of  her  partner  as  "  done  up." 
Was  it  the  excitement  of  falling  in  love  ? — combined 
perhaps  with  the  worry  of  leaving  her  work  and  the 
career  just  begun? 

He  asked  a  few  questions  about  her  plans.  She 
answered  him  very  gently,  with  a  subtle  note  of 
apology  in  her  voice;  but  yet,  as  it  seemed  to  him> 
from  rather  far  away.  And  when  they  parted,  he 
realized  that  he  had  never  known  more  of  her  than 
an  outer  self,  which  offered  but  little  clue  to  the  self 
within. 

Rachel  walked  back  to  the  farm  with  Miss  Shen- 
stone's  note  in  her  pocket.  She  had  told  the  vicar 
that  her  land-girls  should  certainly  come  to  the 
Shepherds'  servants'  party — but  she  said  nothing 
about  it  to  them — till  Janet  Leighton  had  safely 
bicycled  away  in  the  early  afternoon.  The  invita- 
tion, however,  was  a  godsend.  For  Rachel  had  be- 
gun to  realize  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  watch- 
ing going  on — watching  of  the  farm,  and  watching 
over  herself.  She  understood  that  Halsey  had  been 
scared  by  some  tramp  or  other  whom  he  took  for 
the  ghost ;  and  she  saw  that  Janet  was  unwilling  that 


270  HARVEST 

any  one  should  be  alone  after  dark  in  the  farm.  No- 
body had  talked  to  her — Rachel — about  it — no 
doubt  by  Ellesborough's  wish — because  she  was  sup- 
posed to  be  out  of  sorts — run  down.  She  had  ac- 
cepted the  little  conspiracy  of  silence  as  a  proof  of 
his  tenderness,  and  had  obediently  asked  no 
questions. 

And  it  had  not  yet  occurred  to  her  to  connect  the 
stories  floating  about  the  farm  with  Delane's  reap- 
pearance. The  stunning  fact  of  the  reappearance, 
with  all  that  it  might  mean  to  her,  absorbed  her  mind 
• — for  a  few  hours  yet. 

But  as  soon  as  Janet  was  safely  off  the  premises, 
she  hurried  across  to  the  shippen,  where  Betty  and 
Jenny  were  milking. 

"  Girls ! — would  you  like  to  go  to  the  Shep- 
herds' dance  to-night?  I've  got  an  invitation  for 
you?" 

Stupefaction — and  delight!  The  invitations  had 
been  very  sparing  and  select,  and  the  two  little 
maidens  had  felt  themselves  Cinderellas  indeed,  all 
the  sorer  in  their  minds  seeing  that  Dempsey  and 
Betty's  young  man  were  both  going. 

But  frocks!  Jenny  at  least  had  nothing  suitable. 
Rachel  at  once  offered  a  white  frock.  The  milking 
and  dairy  work  were  hurried  through,  and  then 
came  the  dressing,  as  the  dance  began  at  seven. 


HARVEST  271 

Betty,  knowing  herself  to  be  a  beauty,  except  for  her 
teeth,  had  soon  finished.  A  white  blouse,  a  blue  cot- 
ton skirt,  a  blue  ribbon  in  her  mop  of  brown  hair — 
and  she  looked  at  herself  exultantly  in  Miss  Hender- 
son's glass.  Jenny  was  much  more  difficult  to  please. 
She  was  crimson  with  excitement,  and  the  tip  of  her 
little  red  tongue  kept  slipping  in  and  out.  But 
Rachel  patted  and  pinned — in  a  kind  of  dream. 
Jenny's  red  hair,  generally  worn  in  the  tightest  wisps 
and  plaits,  was  brushed  out  till  it  stood  like  a  halo 
round  her  face  and  neck,  and  she  was  secretly  afraid 
that  Dempsey  wouldn't  know  her. 

Then  Rachel  wrapped  them  up  in  their  land-army 
waterproofs,  and  saw  them  off,  carrying  an  electric 
torch  to  guide  them  safely  through  the  bit  of  lane 
under  the  trees.  But  there  was  a  moon  rising,  and 
the  fog  was  less. 

"  Ain't  she  just  kind? — don't  you  just  love  her?  " 
said  Jenny  ecstatically  to  Betty,  as  they  turned  back 
to  wave  their  farewells  again  to  the  figure  standing 
in  the  doorway. 

Betty  assented.  But  they  were  both  greatly  aston- 
ished. For  Rachel  did  not  in  general  take  much 
personal  notice  of  them. 

They  were  no  sooner  out  of  sight  than  Rachel 
went  to  look  at  the  clock  in  the  kitchen.  Ten  min- 


272  HARVEST 

utes  to  seven.  Two  hours  to  wait.  How  were  they 
going  to  be  got  through? 

She  went  out  aimlessly  into  the  farm-yard,  where 
the  farm  buildings  stood  in  a  faintly  luminous  mist, 
the  hill-side  behind  them,  and  the  climbing  woods. 
To  her  left,  across  the  fields  ran  the  road  climbing 
to  the  miniature  pass,  whence  it  descended  steeply 
to  the  plain  beyond.  And  on  the  further  side  of  the 
road  lay  her  own  fields,  with  alternating  bands  of 
plough-land  and  stubble,  and  the  hedge-row  trees 
standing  ghostly  and  separate  in  the  light  haze. 

She  was  alone  in  the  farm,  in  all  that  landscape 
the  only  living  thing  at  the  moment,  except  for  the 
animals.  A  tense  energy  of  will  seemed  to  possess 
her.  She  was  defending  herself — defending  Elles- 
borough — and  their  joint  lives.  How  was  she  going 
to  do  it?  She  didn't  know.  But  the  passion  in  her 
blood  would  give  her  strength — would  see  her 
through. 

In  the  old  barn,  the  cows  were  munching  peace- 
fully. The  air  was  sweet  with  their  breath,  and  with 
the  hay  piled  in  their  cribs.  Rachel  wandered  noise- 
lessly amongst  them,  and  they  turned  their  large 
eyes  slowly  to  look  at  her,  and  the  small  lantern  she 
carried.  In  the  stables,  too,  not  a  sound,  but  an 
occasional  swishing  and  champing.  Rachel  hung  up 
the  lantern,  and  sat  down  on  a  truss  of  hay,  idly 


HARVEST  273 

watching  the  rays  of  light  striking  up  into  the  cross- 
beams of  the  roof,  and  on  the  shining  flanks  of  the 
horses.  Her  mind  was  going  at  a  great  speed.  And 
all  in  a  moment — without  any  clear  consciousness 
of  the  strange  thoughts  that  had  been  running 
through  her  brain — an  intuition  struck  through  her. 

Roger! — it  was  he  who  had  been  playing  the 
ghost — he  who  had  been  seen  haunting  the  farm — 
who  had  scared  Halsey — Roger!  come  to  spy  upon 
her  and  her  lover !  Once  the  idea  suggested  itself, 
she  was  certain  of  it — it  must  be  true. 

The  appearance  in  the  lane  had  been  cleverly  pre- 
meditated. She  had  been  watched  for  days,  perhaps 
for  weeks. 

Ellesborough  had  been  watched,  too,  no  doubt. 

She  drew  a  shuddering  breath.  She  was  afraid  of 
Roger  Delane.  From  the  early  days  of  her  marriage 
she  had  been  afraid  of.  him.  There  was  about  him 
the  incalculable  something  which  means  moral  in- 
sanity— abnormal  processes  of  mind  working 
through  uncontrolled  will.  You  could  never  reason 
with  or  influence  him,  where  his  appetites  or  his 
passions  were  concerned.  A  mocking  spirit  looked 
out  upon  you,  just  before  his  blow  fell.  He  was  a 
mere  force — inhuman  and  sinister. 

Well,  she  had  got  to  fight  it  and  tame  it!  She 
shut  up  the  cow-house  and  stable,  and  stood  out 


274  HARVEST 

awhile  in  the  farm-yard,  letting  the  mild  wind  play 
on  her  bare  head  and  hot  cheeks.  The  moon  was 
riding  overhead.  The  night  seemed  to  her  very 
silent  and  mysterious — yet  penetrated  by  something 
divine  to  which  she  lifted  her  heart.  What  would 
Ellesborough  say  over  there — in  his  forester's  hut, 
five  miles  beyond  the  hills,  if  he  knew  what  she  was 
doing — whom  she  was  expecting?  She  shut  her 
eyes,  and  saw  his  lean,  strong  face,  his  look 

The  church  clock  was  striking,  and  surely — in  the 
distance,  the  sound  of  an  opening  gate  ?  She  hurried 
back  to  the  house,  and  the  sitting-room.  The  lamp 
was  low.  She  revived  it.  She  made  up  the  fire. 
She  felt  herself  shivering  with  excitement,  and  she 
stooped  over  the  fire,  warming  her  hands. 

She  had  purposely  left  the  front  door  unlocked. 
A  hand  tried  the  handle,  turned  it — a  slow  step 
entered. 

She  went  to  the  sitting-room  door  and  threw  it 
open — 

"  Come  in  here." 

Roger  Delane  came  in  and  shut  the  door  behind 
him.  They  confronted  each  other. 

'*  You've  managed  it  uncommonly  well,"  he  said, 
at  last.  *  You've  dared  it.  Aren't  you  afraid 
of  me?" 

"  Not  the  least.    What  do  you  want?  " 


HARVEST  275 

They  surveyed  each  other — with  hatred,  yet  not 
without  a  certain  passionate  curiosity  on  both  sides. 
When  Delane  had  last  seen  Rachel  she  was  a  pale 
and  care-worn  creature,  her  youth  darkened  by  suf- 
fering and  struggle,  her  eyes  still  heavy  with  the 
tears  she  had  shed  for  her  lost  baby.  He  beheld 
her  now  rounded  and  full-blown,  at  the  zenith  of  her 
beauty,  and  breathing  an  energy,  physical  and 
mental,  he  had  never  yet  seen  in  her.  She  had  es- 
caped him,  and  her  life  had  put  out  a  new  flower. 
He  was  suddenly  possessed  as  he  looked  at  her,  both 
by  the  poisonous  memory  of  old  desire,  and  by  an 
intolerable  sense  of  his  impotence,  and  her  triumph. 
And  the  physical  fever  in  his  veins  made  self-control 
difficult. 

On  her  side,  she  saw  the  ruin  of  a  man.  When 
she  married  him  he  had  been  a  moral  wreck.  But 
the  physical  envelope  was  still  intact,  still  splendid. 
Now  his  clothes  seemed  to  hang  upon  a  skeleton; 
the  hollows  in  the  temples  and  cheeks,  the  emacia- 
tion of  the  face  and  neck,  the  scanty  grey  hair,  struck 
horror,  but  it  was  a  horror  in  which  there  was  not 
a  trace  of  sympathy  or  pity.  He  had  destroyed 
himself,  and  he  would,  if  he  could,  destroy  her.  She 
read  in  him  the  thirst  for  revenge.  She  had  to 
baffle  it,  if  she  could. 

As  she  defied  him,  indeed,  she  saw  his  hand  steal 


276  HARVEST 

to  his  coat-pocket,  and  it  occurred  to  her  that  the 
pocket  might  contain  a  revolver.  But  the  thought 
only  nerved  her — gave  her  an  almost  exultant 
courage. 

"What  do  I  want?"  he  repeated,  at  last  with- 
drawing his  eyes.  "  I'll  tell  you,  I've  come — like 
Foch — to  dictate  to  you  certain  terms,  which  you 
have  only  to  accept.  We  had  better  sit  down.  It 
will  take  time." 

Rachel  pointed  to  a  chair.  He  took  it,  crossed 
one  knee  over  the  other,  rested  his  arm  on  the  table 
near,  and  watched  her  with  a  sneering  smile,  while 
she  seated  herself. 

He  broke  the  silence. 

"  I  confess  you  were  very  clever  about  Dick 
Tanner — and  I  was  a  precious  fool!  I  never 
suspected." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  idea  what  you  mean." 

"  A  lie !  "  he  said,  impetuously.  "  You  were  in 
Dick  Tanner's  house — staying  with  him  alone — at 
night — after  I  left  you.  You  were  seen  there — 
by  a  man — a  Canadian — from  whom  I  had  the 
story — only  two  days  ago.  He  doesn't  know  my 
name,  nor  I  his.  We  met  on  the  common,  two 
nights  ago,  after  dark.  And  by  the  merest  chance 
he  was  coming  to  the  farm,  and  he  began  to  talk  of 
you.  Then  this  came  out.  But  of  course  I  always 


HARVEST  277 

knew  that  it — or  something  like  it — would  come  out. 
Your   puritanical   airs   never  deceived  me — for   ali 
moment." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  talking  of  John  Dempsey?" 
The  scorn  in  her  voice  enraged  him. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  John  Dempsey.  Of 
course  I  can  track  the  man  who  told  me,  if  I  want 
to — with  the  greatest  ease.  He  was  coming  here  to 
call.  He  saw  either  you  or  your  partner.  And 
I  shall  track  him — if  you  force  me." 

She  was  silent — and  he  smiled. 

"  Assume,  please,  that  I  have  my  witness  at  hand. 
Well,  then,  he  saw  you  alone — at  night — in  Dick 
Tanner's  charge,  a  few  days  apparently,  after  you 
and  I  quarrelled.  What  were  you  doing  there  ?  " 

"  It  was  during  that  great  snowstorm,  I  suppose," 
she  said,  in  her  most  ordinary  voice,  taking  up  her 
knitting.  u  I  remember  going  over  to  the  Tanners' 
to  ask  for  something — and  being  snow-bound.  Lucy 
Tanner  was  always  ready  to  help  me — and  be  sorry 
for  me." 

At  this  he  laughed  out,  and  the  note  of  the  laugh 
dismayed  her. 

"Lucy  Tanner?  Yes,  that's  good.  I  thought 
you'd  play  her !  Now,  I'll  tell  you  something.  The 
day  after  I  left  you,  I  was  on  the  train  going  to 
Regina.  We  stopped  a  long  time.  I  don't  remem- 


278  HARVEST 

her  why — at  Medicine  Hat — and  walking  up  and 
down  the  platform  was — Lucy  Tanner!  Does  that 
surprise  you?  She  told  me  she  couldn't  stand  the 
Manitoba  climate,  and  was  going  to  a  friend  at 
Kamloops  for  the  winter.  Is  that  news  to  you?  " 

Rachel  had  turned  white,  but  he  saw  no  other  sign 
of  discomposure. 

"  Not  at  all.  Naturally,  I  went  over  expecting  to 
find  her.  But  as  you  say,  she  was  gone,  and  Mr. 
Tanner  drove  me  back,  when  the  storm  went  down." 

Then  she  threw  down  her  knitting  and  faced 
him. 

"  What's  the  use  of  talking  like  this,  Roger  ? 
You  won't  make  anything  out  of  this  story  you're  so 
proud  of.  Hadn't  you  better  come  to  business? 
Why  have  you  been  spying  on  me,  and  dogging  me 
like  this?  You  know,  of  course,  I  could  give  you  in 
charge  to-morrow,  or  I  could  get  Captain  Ellesbor- 
ough  to  do  it.  And  I  will — unless  you  give  me  your 
solemn  promise  to  leave  this  place,  to  go  out  of  my 
life  altogether,  and  stop  molesting  me  in  this  scan- 
dalous way.  Now,  of  course,  I  understand  who  it 
is  that  has  been  prowling  about  the  farm  all  these 
weeks.  And  I  warn  you  the  police  too  know  all 
about  it,  and  are  on  the  watch.  They  may  have 
tracked  you  here  to-night  for  all  I  know." 

"  Not  they !     I  passed  one  bobby  fellow  on  the 


HARVEST  279 

hill,  going  safely  away  north,  as  I  came  down.  I 
was  scarcely  three  yards  from  him,  and  he  never 
twigged.  And  the  other's  gone  to  Millsborough. 
You  could  hardly  be  more  alone,  more  entirely  at 
my  mercy — than  you  are  at  this  moment,  Miss 
Henderson ! "  He  laid  an  ironic  emphasis  on  the 
name. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"All  the  same  the  people  who  live  with  me  in 
this  house  will  soon  be  back.  I  recommend  you  to 
make  haste.  I  ask  you  again — what  is  it  you  want?  " 

She  had  stood  up  pluckily — he  admitted  it.  But, 
as  he  observed  her  closely  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
strain  on  her  nerves  was  telling.  She  was  beginning 
to  look  pinched,  and  her  hand  as  it  lay  beside  her 
knitting  shook. 

11  Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said  coolly.  He  took  a 
half  sheet  of  note-paper  out  of  the  breast-pocket  of 
his  coat,  drew  the  lamp  on  the  table  towards  him, 
and  looked  at  certain  figures  and  notes  written  on 
the  paper. 

"  I  went  this  morning  in  town  to  look  up  your 
uncle's  will.  Of  course  I  remember  all  about  that 
old  chap  at  Manchester.  I  often  speculated  on 
what  he  was  going  to  leave  you.  Unfortunately  for 
me  he  lived  just  a  little  too  long.  But  I  find  from 
the  copy  of  the  will  that  he  left  you — three — thou- 


!28o  HARVEST 

sand — pounds.  Not  bad,  considering  that  you  were 
never  at  all  civil  to  him.  But  three  thousand  pounds 
is  more  than  you  require  to  run  this  small  farm  on. 
{You  owe  me  damages  for  the  injury  you  inflicted  on 
me  by  the  loss  of — first,  your  society;  second,  your 
financial  prospects.  I  assess  it  at  five  hundred 
pounds.  Pay  me  that  small  sum,  and — well,  I  en- 
gage to  leave  you  henceforth  to  the  Captain, — and 
your  conscience." 

He  bent  forward  across  the  table,  his  mocking 
eyes  fixed  intently  upon  her.  There  was  silence  a 
moment — till  she  said: — 

"And  if  I  refuse?" 

"  Oh,  well,  then — "  he  lifted  a  paper-knife  and 
balanced  it  on  his  hand  as  though  considering — "  I 
shall  of  course  have  to  work  up  my  case.  What  do 
you  call  this  man? — John  Dempsey?  A  great  fool 
— but  I  dare  say  I  shall  get  enough  out  of  him.  And 
then — well,  then  I  propose  to  present  the  story 
to  Captain  Ellesborough — for  his  future  protec- 
tion." 

"  He  won't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

But  her  lips  had  blanched — her  voice  had  begun 
to  waver — and  with  a  cruel  triumph  he  saw  that  he 
had  won  the  day. 

"  I  dare  say  not.  That's  for  him  to  consider. 
But  if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  put  him  to  the  test." 


HARVEST  281 

Silence  again.  He  saw  the  fluttering  of  her 
breath.  With  a  complete  change  of  tone,  he  said, 
smiling,  in  a  low  voice: — 

"  Rachel ! — when  did  you  begin  to  prefer  Dick 
Tanner  to  me  ?  No  doubt  you  had  a  jolly  time  with 
him.  I  suppose  I  can't  undo  the  divorce — but  you 
would  never  have  got  it,  if  I  hadn't  been  such  an 
innocent." 

She  sprang  up,  and  he  saw  that  he  had  gone  too 
far. 

"  If  you  say  any  more  such  things  to  me,  you  will 
get  nothing  from  me — and  you  may  either  go — "  she 
pointed  passionately  to  the  door — "  or  you  may  sit 
there  till  my  people  come  back — which  you  like." 

He  looked  at  her,  under  his  eyebrows,  smiling 
mechanically — weighing  the  relative  advantages  of 
prudence  or  violence.  Prudence  carried  the  day. 

*  You  are  just  the  same  spitfire,  I  see,  as  you  used 
to  be!  All  right.  I  see  you  understand.  Well, 
now,  how  am  I  to  get  my  money — my  damages?  " 
She  turned  away,  and  went  quickly  to  an  old  bureau 
that  had  been  her  uncle's.  He  watched  her,  ex- 
ultant. It  was  all  true,  then.  Dick  Tanner  had  been 
her  lover,  and  Ellesborough  knew  nothing.  He  did 
not  know  whether  to  be  the  more  triumphant  in  her 
tacit  avowal,  or  the  more  enraged  by  the  testimony 
borne  by  her  acquiescence  to  her  love  for  Ellesbor- 


282  HARVEST 

ough.  He  hated  her;  yet  he  had  never  admired  her 
so  much,  as  his  eyes  followed  her  stooping  over  the 
drawers  of  the  bureau,  her  beautiful  head  and  neck 
in  a  warm  glow  of  firelight. 

Then,  suddenly,  he  began  to  cough.  She,  hunting 
for  her  cheque-book,  took  no  notice  at  first.  But 
the  paroxysm  grew;  it  shook  the  very  life  out  of 
him;  till  at  last  she  stood  arrested  and  staring — 
while  he  fell  back  in  his  chair  like  a  dead  man,  his 
eyes  shut,  his  handkerchief  to  his  lips. 

"Shall  I — shall  I  get  you  some  brandy?"  she 
said,  coldly.  He  nodded  assent.  She  hurriedly 
looked  for  her  keys,  and  went  to  a  cupboard  in  the 
kitchen,  where  Janet  kept  a  half  bottle  of  brandy 
for  medical  use  if  needed. 

He  drank  off  what  she  brought — but  it  was  some 
time  before  he  recovered  speech.  When  he  did  it 
was  in  a  low  tone  that  made  the  words  a  curse : — 

"That's  your  doing!" 

Her  only  answer  was  a  gesture. 

"  It  is,"  he  insisted,  speaking  in  gasps.  **  You 
never  showed  me  any  real  love — any  forbearance. 
You  never  cared  for  me — as  you  know  I  cared  for 
you.  You  told  me  so  once.  You  married  me  for  a 
home — and  then  you  deserted — and  betrayed  me." 

There  was  a  guilty  answer  in  her  consciousness 
which  made  her  speak  without  anger. 


HARVEST  283 

"  I  know  my  own  faults  very  well.  And  now  you 
must  go — we  can't  either  of  us  stand  this  any  more. 
Do  you  give  me  your  solemn  promise  that  you  will 
trouble  me  no  more — or  the  man  I  am  going  to 
marry — if  I  do  this  for  you?  " 

"  Give  me  a  piece  of  paper — "  he  said,  huskily. 

He  wrote  the  promise,  signed  it,  and  pushed  it 
to  her.  Then  he  carefully  examined  the  self  cheque 
"  to  bearer  "  which  she  had  written. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  that  will  see  me  out — and  bury 
me  decently.  I  shall  take  my  family  down  to  the 
sea.  You  know  I've  got  a  little  girl — about  three? 
Oh,  I  never  told  any  lies  about  Anita.  I've  married 
her  now." 

Rachel  stood  like  a  stone,  without  a  word.  Her 
one  consuming  anxiety  was  to  see  him  gone,  to  be 
done  with  him. 

He  rose  slowly — with  difficulty.  And  the  cough 
seized  him  again.  Rachel  in  a  fevered  exasperation 
watched  him  clinging  to  the  table  for  support. 
Would  he  die — or  faint — then  and  there — and  be 
found  by  Janet,  who  must  now  be  on  her  way  home  ? 
She  pressed  brandy  on  him  again.  But  he  pushed 
it  away.  "  Let  me  be  !  "  She  could  only  wait. 

When  he  could  speak  and  move  again,  he  put  the 
cheque  away  in  his  pocket,  and  buttoned  his  coat 
over  it. 


284  HARVEST 

"Well,  good-night."  Then  straightening  him- 
self, he  fixed  her  with  a  pair  of  burning  eyes. 
"  Good-night.  Anita  will  be  kind  to  me — when  I 
die — Anita  will  be  a  woman  to  me.  You  were 
never  kind — you  never  thought  of  any  one  but  your- 
self. Good-bye.  Good  luck !  " 

And  walking  uncertainly  to  the  door,  he  opened  it 
and  was  gone.  She  heard  his  slow  steps  in  the  farm- 
yard, and  the  opening  of  the  wicket  gate.  Then  all 
sounds  died  away. 

For  a  few  minutes  she  crouched  sobbing  over  the 
fire,  weeping  for  sheer  nervous  exhaustion.  Then 
the  dread  seized  her  of  being  caught  in  such  a  state 
by  Janet,  and  she  went  upstairs,  locked  her  door, 
and  threw  herself  on  her  bed.  The  bruise  of  an 
intolerable  humiliation  seemed  to  spread  through 
soul  and  body.  She  knew  that  for  the  first  time  she 
had  confessed  her  wretched  secret  which  she  had 
thought  so  wholly  her  own — and  confessed  it — hor- 
rible and  degrading  thought! — to  Roger  Delane. 
Not  in  words  indeed — but  in  act.  No  innocent 
woman  would  have  paid  the  blackmail.  The  dark 
room  in  which  she  lay  seemed  to  be  haunted  by  De- 
lane's  exultant  eyes. 

And  the  silence  was  haunted  too  by  his  last 
words.  There  arose  in  her  a  reluctant  and  tortur- 
ing pity  for  the  wretched  man  who  had  been  her 


HARVEST  28^ 

husband;  a  pity  which  passed  on  into  a  storm  of 
moral  anguish.  Her  whole  past  life  looked  in- 
credibly black  to  her  as  she  lay  there  in  the 
dark — stained  with  unkindness,  and  selfishness,  and 
sin. 

Which  saw  her  the  more  truly  ? — Roger,  or  Elles- 
borough? — the  man  who  hated  and  cursed  her,  or 
the  man  who  adored  her? 

She  was  struggling,  manoeuvring,  fighting,  to  keep 
the  truth  from  George  Ellesborough.  It  was  quite 
uncertain  whether  she  would  succeed.  Roger's  word 
was  a  poor  safeguard !  But  if  she  did,  the  truth  it- 
self would  only  the  more  certainly  pursue  and  beat 
her  down. 

And  again,  the  utter  yearning  for  confession  and 
an  unburdened  soul  came  upon  her  intolerably.  The 
religious  psychologist  describes  such  a  crisis  as 
"  conversion,"  or  "  conviction  of  sin,"  or  the 
"  working  of  grace."  And  he  knows  from  long  ex- 
perience that  it  is  the  result  in  the  human  soul  not 
so  much  of  a  sense  of  evil,  as  of  a  vision  of  good. 
Goodness  had  been  brought  near  to  Rachel  in  the 
personality — the  tender  self-forgetting  trust — of 
George  Ellesborough.  It  was  goodness,  not  fear — 
goodness,  unconscious  of  any  threatened  wrong — 
that  had  pierced  her  heart  Then  a  thought  came  to 
her.  Janet! — Janet  whose  pure  and  loving  life  be- 


286  HARVEST 

side  her  made  yet  another  element  in  the  spiritual 
forces  that  were  pressing  upon  her. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  would  tell  Janet 
everything — put  her  poor  secret — her  all — in  Janet's 
hands. 


XIII 

IT  was  again  a  very  still  and  misty  night, — * 
extraordinarily  mild  for  the  time  of  year.  A 
singular  brooding  silence  held  all  the  woodlands 
above  Great  End  Farm.  There  was  not  a  breath  of 
wind.  Every  dead  branch  that  fell,  every  bird  that 
moved,  every  mouse  scratching  among  the  fallen 
beech  leaves,  produced  sounds  disproportionately 
clear  and  startling,  and  for  the  moment  there  would 
be  a  rustle  of  disturbance,  as  though  something  or 
some  one,  in  the  forest  heart,  took  alarm.  Then 
the  deep  waters  of  quiet  closed  again,  and 
everything — except  that  watching  presence — 
slept. 

The  hut  in  Denman  Wood,  which  had  formerly 
played  a  hospitable  part  as  the  scene  of  many  a 
Gargantuan  luncheon  to  Colonel  Shepherd's  shoot- 
ing parties,  had  long  been  an  abandoned  spot.  All 
the  Colonel's  keepers  under  fifty  had  gone  to  fight; 
and  there  was  left  only  an  old  head  keeper,  with  one 
decrepit  helper,  who  shot  the  scanty  game  which  still 
survived  on  strict  business  principles,  to  eke  out  the 
household  rations  of  the  big  house.  The  Ipscombe 

287 


288  HARVEST 

woods  were  rarely  visited.  They  were  a  long  way 
from  the  keeper's  cottage,  and  the  old  man,  de- 
pressed by  the  difference  between  war  and  pre-war 
conditions,  found  it  quite  enough  to  potter  round  the 
stubbles  and  turnips  of  the  home  farm  when  game 
had  to  be  shot. 

The  paths  leading  through  the  underwood  to  the 
hut  were  now  in  these  four  years  largely  over- 
grown. A  place  more  hidden  and  forgotten  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  find.  And  for  this  reason, 
combined  with  its  neighbourhood  to  Rachel  Hen- 
derson's farm,  Roger  Delane  had  chosen  to  in- 
habit it. 

It  was  the  third  night  after  his  interview  with  his 
former  wife.  He  reached  the  hut  after  dark,  by 
various  by-paths  over  the  wide  commons  stretching 
between  it  and  X — the  station  at  which  he  now  gen- 
erally alighted.  He  carried  in  his  pocket  some 
evening  newspapers,  a  new  anthology,  and  a  novel. 
Owing  to  an  injection  of  morphia — a  habit  to  which 
he  had  only  lately  taken — he  felt  unusually  fit,  and 
his  brain  was  unusually  alert.  At  the  same  time  he 
had  had  a  disagreeable  interview  with  a  doctor  that 
morning  who  had  been  insisting  on  Sanatorium  treat- 
ment if  the  remaining  lung  was  to  be  preserved 
and  his  life  prolonged.  He  did  not  want  to  prolong 
his  life,  but  only  to  avoid  the  beastliness  of  pain.  It 


HARVEST  289 

seemed  to  him  that  morphia — good  stuff ! — was  go- 
ing to  do  that  for  him.  Why  hadn't  he  begun  it 
before?  But  his  brain  was  queer — he  was  con- 
scious of  that.  He  had  asked  the  doctor  about  some 
curious  mental  symptoms.  The  reply  was  that 
phthisis  was  often  accompanied  by  them. 

Obsession — fixed  ideas — in  the  medical  sense: 
half  of  him,  psychologically,  was  quite  conscious  that 
the  other  half  was  under  their  influence.  The  sound 
self  was  observing  the  unsound  self,  but  apparently 
with  no  power  over  it.  Otherwise  how  was  it  that 
he  was  here  again,  hiding  like  a  wild  beast  in  a  lair, 
less  than  a  mile  from  Great  End  Farm,  and  Rachel 
Henderson  ? 

He  had  found  his  way  to  London  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  day  following  his  scene  with  Rachel, 
intending  to  keep  his  promise,  and  let  his  former 
wife  alone.  The  cashing  of  Rachel's  cheque  had 
given  him  and  Anita  some  agreeable  moments; 
though  Anita  was  growing  disturbed  that  he  would 
not  tell  her  where  the  money  came  from.  They  had 
found  fresh  lodgings  in  a  really  respectable  Blooms- 
bury  street;  they  had  both  bought  clothes,  and  little 
Netta  had  been  rigged  out.  Delane  had  magnifi- 
cently compounded  with  his  most  pressing  creditors, 
and  had  taken  Anita  to  a  theatre.  But  he  had  been 
discontented  with  her  appearance  there.  She  had 


290  HARVEST 

really  lost  all  her  good  looks.     If  it  hadn't  been  for 

the  kid 

And  now,  after  this  interval,  his  obsession  had 
swooped  upon  him  again.  It  was  an  obsession  of 
hate — which  simply  could  not  endure,  when  it  came 
to  the  point,  that  Rachel  Henderson  should  vanish 
unscathed  into  the  future  of  a  happy  marriage, 
while  he  remained  the  doomed  failure  and  outcast 
he  knew  himself  to  be.  Rachel's  implied  confession 
rankled  in  him  like  a  burn.  Tanner! — that  wretched 
weakling,  with  his  miserable  daubs  that  nobody 
wanted  to  buy.  So  Rachel  had  gone  to  him,  as  soon 
as  she  had  driven  her  husband  away,  no  doubt  to 
complain  of  her  ill-treatment,  to  air  her  woes.  The 
fellow  had  philandered  round  her  some  time,  and 
had  shown  an  insolent  and  interfering  temper  once 
or  twice  towards  himself.  Yes ! — he  could  imagine 
it  all! — her  flight,  and  Tanner's  maudlin  sympathy 
— tears — caresses — the  natural  sequel.  And  then 
her  pose  of  complete  innocence  at  the  divorce  pro- 
ceedings— the  Judge's  remarks.  Revolting  hypoc- 
risy! If  Tanner  had  been  still  alive,  he  would  some- 
how have  exposed  him — somehow  have  made  him 
pay.  Lucky  for  him  he  was  drowned  in  that  boat 
accident  on  Lake  Nipissing !  And  no  doubt  Rachel 
thought  that  the  accident  had  made  everything  safe 
for  her. 


HARVEST  291 

Every  incident  now,  every  phase  of  his  conversa- 
tion with  her  was  assuming  a  monstrous  and  dis- 
torted significance  in  his  mind.  How  easily  she  had 
yielded  on  the  subject  of  the  money!  He  might 
have  asked  a  great  deal  more — and  he  would  have 
got  it.  Very  likely  Ellesborough  was  well  off — • 
Yankees  generally  were — and  she  knew  that  what 
she  gave  Delane  as  hush  money  would  make  very 
little  difference  to  her.  Ellesborough  no  doubt 
would  not  look  very  closely  into  her  shekels,  having 
sufficient  of  his  own.  Otherwise  it  might  occur  to 
him  to  wonder  how  she  had  got  rid  of  that  £500. 
Would  it  pinch  her?  Probably,  if  all  she  had  for 
capital  was  the  old  chap's  legacy.  Well — serve  her 
right — serve  her,  damned,  doubly  right!  Elles- 
borough's  kisses  would  make  up. 

These  thoughts,  after  a  momentary  respite,  held 
him  in  their  grip  as  he  walked  London  streets.  Sus- 
picion of  the  past — ugly  and  venomous — flapped  its 
black  wings  about  him.  Had  Rachel  ever  been  faith- 
ful to  him — even  in  the  early  days?  She  had  made 
acquaintance  with  the  Tanners  very  soon  after  their 
marriage.  Looking  back,  a  number  of  small  inci- 
dents and  scenes  poked  their  heads  out  of  the  dead 
level  of  the  past.  Rachel  and  Tanner,  discussing  the 
Watts  photograph  when  Rachel  first  acquired  it — 
Tanner's  eager  denunciatory  talk — he  called  himself 


292  HARVEST 

an  "  impressionist  " — the  creature ! — because  he 
couldn't  draw  worth  a  cent — Rachel  all  smiles  and 
deference.  She  had  never  given  him  that  sort  of 
attention.  Or  Rachel  at  a  housewarming  in  the  next 
farm  to  his — Rachel  in  a  pale  green  dress,  the  hand- 
somest woman  there,  dancing  with  Tanner — Rachel 
quarrelling  with  him  in  the  buggy  on  the  way  home, 
because  he  called  Tanner  a  milksop — "  He  cares  for 
beautiful  things,  and  you  don't ! — but  that's  no  rea- 
son why  you  should  abuse  him." 

And  what  about  those  weeks  not  very  long  after 
that  dance,  when  he  had  gone  off  to  the  land-sale 
at  Edmonton  (that  was  the  journey,  by  the  way, 
when  he  first  saw  Anita!),  and  Rachel  had  stayed 
at  home,  with  a  girl  friend,  a  girl  they  knew  in  Win- 
nipeg? But  that  girl  hadn't  stayed  all  the  time.  To 
do  her  justice,  Rachel  had  made  no  secret  of  that. 
He  remembered  her  attacking  him  when  he  came 
home  for  having  left  her  for  three  or  four  days  quite 
alone.  Why  had  he  been  so  long  away?  Probably 
a  mere  bluff — though  he  had  been  taken  in  by  it  at 
the  time,  and  being  still  in  love  with  her,  had  done 
his  best  to  appease  her.  But  \vhat  had  she  been 
doing  all  the  time  she  was  alone?  In  the  light  of 
what  he  knew  now,  she  might  have  been  doing  any- 
thing. Was  the  child  his? 

So,  piece  by  piece,  with  no  auditor  but  his  own 


HARVEST  293 

brain,  shut  in  upon  himself  by  the  isolation  which 
his  own  life  had  forged  for  him,  he  built  up  a  hide- 
ous indictment  against  the  woman  he  had  once  loved. 
He  wished  he  had  put  off  his  interview  with  her  till 
he  had  had  time  to  think  things  out  more.  As  he 
came  to  realize  how  she  had  tricked  and  bested  him, 
her  offence  became  incredibly  viler  than  it  seemed  at 
first.  He  had  let  her  off  far  too  cheaply  that  night 
at  the  farm.  Scenes  of  past  violence  returned  upon 
him,  and  the  memory  of  them  seemed  to  satisfy  a 
rising  thirst.  Especially  the  recollection  of  the  di- 
vorce proceedings  maddened  him.  His  morbid  brain 
took  hold  on  them  with  a  grip  that  his  will  could  not 
loosen.  Her  evidence — he  had  read  it  in  the  Win- 
nipeg newspapers — the  remarks  of  the  prating  old 
judge — and  of  her  cad  of  a  lawyer — good  God! 
And  all  the  time  it  was  she  who  ought  to  have  been 
in  the  dock,  and  he  the  accuser,  if  he  had  known — 
if  he  hadn't  been  a  trusting  idiot,  a  bleating  fool. 

A  brooding  intensity  of  rage,  as  this  inward 
process  went  on,  gradually  drowned  in  him  every 
other  feeling  and  desire.  The  relief  and  amusement 
of  the  money  and  its  spending  were  soon  over.  He 
thought  no  more  of  it.  Anita,  and  his  child  even — 
the  child  for  whom  he  really  cared — passed  out  of 
his  mind.  As  he  sat  drinking  whisky  in  the  dull 
respectable  lodging,  at  night  after  Anita  had  gone  to 


294  HARVEST 

bed,  he  felt  the  sinister  call  of  those  dark  woods 
above  Rachel's  farm,  and  tasted  the  sweetness  of  his 
new  power  to  hurt  her,  now  that  she  had  paid  him 
this  blackmail,  and  damned  herself  thereby — past 
help.  She  had  threatened  him.  But  what  could  she 
do — or  the  Yankee  fellow  either?  She  had  given 
the  show  away.  As  for  his  promise,  when  he  had 
no  right  to  make  it, — no  right  to  allow  such  a  woman 
to  get  off  scot-free,  with  plenty  of  money  and  a  new 
lover. 

So  on  the  Thursday  evening  he  took  train  for  X. 
It  was  still  the  Armistice  week.  The  London  streets 
were  crowded  with  soldiers  and  young  women  of 
every  sort  and  kind.  He  bought  a  newspaper  and 
read  it  in  the  train.  It  gave  him  a  queer  satisfaction 
— for  one  half  of  him  was  still  always  watching  the 
other — to  discover  that  he  could  feel  patriotic  emo- 
tion like  anybody  else  and  could  be  thrilled  by  the 
elation  of  Britain's  victory — his  victory.  He  read 
the  telegrams,  the  positions  on  the  Rhine  assigned  to 
the  Second  Army,  and  the  Fourth, — General  Plumer 
General  Rawlinson — General  F. — Gad!  he  used  to 
know  the  son  of  that  last  old  fellow  at  King's. 

Then  he  fell  to  his  old  furtive  watching  of  the 
people  on  the  platform,  the  men  getting  in  and  out 
of  the  train.  At  any  moment  he  might  fall  in  with 
one  of  his  old  Cambridge  acquaintances,  in  one  of 


HARVEST  295 

these  smart  officers,  with  their  decorations  and  their 
red  tabs.  But  in  the  first  place  they  wouldn't  travel 
in  this  third  class  where  he  was  sitting — not  till  the 
war  was  over.  And  in  the  next,  he  was  so  changed 
— had  taken  indeed  such  pains  to  be — that  it  was 
long  odds  against  his  being  recognized.  Eleven 
years,  was  it,  since  he  left  Cambridge  ?  About. 

At  X.  he  got  out.  The  ticket  collector  noticed  him 
for  that  faint  touch  of  a  past  magnificence  that  still 
lingered  in  his  carriage  and  gait;  but  there  were 
so  many  strangers  about  that  he  was  soon  for- 
gotten. 

He  passed  under  a  railway  arch  and  climbed  a 
hill,  the  hill  on  which  he  had  met  Dempsey.  At  the 
top  of  the  hill  he  left  the  high-road  for  a  grass  track 
across  the  common.  There  was  just  enough  light 
from  a  declining  moon  to  show  him  where  he  was. 
The  common  was  full  of  dark  shapes — old  twisted 
thorns,  and  junipers,  and  masses  of  tall  grass — 
so.apes  which  often  seemed  to  him  to  be  sti\  rjely 
alive,  the  silent  but  conscious  witnesses  of  his 
passage. 

The  wood  was  very  dark.  He  groped  his  way 
through  it  with  difficulty  and  found  the  hut.  Once 
inside  it,  he  fastened  the  door  with  a  wooden  bar 
he  had  himself  made,  and  turned  on  his  electric 
torch.  Bit  by  bit  in  the  course  of  his  night  visits  he 


296  HARVEST 

had  accumulated  a  few  necessary  stores — some  fire- 
wood, a  few  groceries  hidden  in  a  corner,  a  couple 
of  brown  blankets,  and  a  small  box  of  tools.  A  heap 
of  dried  bracken  in  a  corner,  raised  on  a  substratum 
of  old  sacks,  had  often  served  him  for  a  bed;  and 
when  he  had  kindled  a  wood  fire  in  the  rough  grate 
of  loose  bricks  where  Colonel  Shepherd's  keepers 
had  been  accustomed  to  warm  the  hot  meat  stews 
sent  up  for  the  shooting  luncheons,  and  had  set  out 
his  supper  on  the  upturned  fragment  of  an  old  box 
which  had  once  held  meal  for  pheasants,  he  had  pro- 
vided at  least  what  was  necessary  for  his  night  so- 
journ. This  food  he  had  brought  with  him;  a 
thermos  bottle  full  of  hot  coffee,  with  slices  of  ham, 
cheese,  and  bread ;  and  he  ate  it  with  appetite,  sitting 
on  a  log  beside  the  fire,  and  pleasantly  conscious  as 
he  looked  round  him,  like  the  Greek  poet  of  long 
ago,  of  that  "  cuteness  "  of  men  which  conjures  up 
housing,  food,  and  fire  in  earth's  loneliest  places. 
Outside  that  small  firelit  space  lay  the  sheer 
silence  of  the  wood,  broken  once  or  twice  by  the  call 
and  flight  of  an  owl  past  the  one  carefully  dark- 
ened window  of  the  hut,  or  by  the  mysterious  sigh- 
ing and  shuddering  which,  from  time  to  time, 
would  run  through  the  crowded  stems  and  leafless 
branches. 

A  queer  "  hotel "  this,  for  mid-November !     He 


HARVEST  297 

might,  if  he  had  chosen,  have  been  amusing  himself, 
tant  bien  que  mal,  in  one  or  other  of  those  shabby 
haunts, — bars,  night-clubs,  dancing-rooms,  to  which 
his  poverty  and  his  moeurs  condemned  him,  while 
his  old  comrades,  the  lads  he  had  been  brought  up 
with  at  school  and  college,  guardsmen,  Hussars,  and 
the  rest,  were  holding  high  revel  for  the  Peace  at 
the  Ritz  or  the  Carlton;  he  might  even,  as  far  as 
money  was  concerned,  now  that  he  had  bagged  his 
great  haul  from  Rachel,  have  been  supping  himself 
at  the  Ritz,  if  he  had  only  had  time  to  exchange  his 
brother-in-law's  old  dress  suit,  which  Marianne  had 
passed  on  to  him,  for  a  new  one,  and  if  he  could 
have  made  up  his  mind  to  the  possible  recognitions 
and  rebuffs  such  a  step  would  have  entailed.  As  it 
was,  he  preferred  his  warm  hiding-place  in  the  heart 
of  the  woods,  coupled  with  this  exultant  sense  of  an 
unseen  and  mysterious  power  which  was  running, 
like  alcohol,  through  his  nerves. 

Real  alcohol,  however,  was  not  wanting  to  his 
solitary  meal.  He  drenched  his  coffee  in  the  cognac 
he  always  carried  about  with  him,  and  then,  cigarette 
in  hand,  he  fell  back  on  the  heap  of  bracken  to  read 
a  while.  The  novel  he  sampled  and  threw  away; 
the  anthology  soon  bored  him;  and  he  spent  the 
greater  part  of  two  hours  lying  on  his  back,  smoking 
and  thinking — till  it  was  safe  to  assume  that  the 


298  HARVEST 

coast  was  clear  round  Great  End  Farm.  About  ten 
o'clock,  he  slipped  noiselessly  out  of  the  hut,  after 
covering  up  the  fire  to  wait  for  his  return,  and  hiding 
as  far  as  he  could  the  other  traces  of  his  occupation. 
The  damp  mist  outside  held  all  the  wood  stifled,  and 
the  darkness  was  profound.  Stepping  as  lightly  as 
possible,  and  using  his  torch  with  the  utmost  precau- 
tion, he  gradually  made  his  way  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  and  the  lip  of  the  basin  beyond  it.  On  the 
bare  down  was  enough  faint  moonlight  to  see  by, 
and  he  extinguished  his  little  lantern  before  leaving 
the  wood.  Below  him  were  the  dim  outlines  of  the 
farm,  a  shadowy  line  of  road  beyond,  and,  as  it  were, 
a  thicker  fold  of  darkness,  to  mark  the  woods  on  the 
horizon.  There  was  not  a  light  anywhere;  the  vil- 
lage was  invisible,  and  he  listened  for  a  long  time 
without  hearing  anything  but  the  rush  of  a  distant 
train. 

Ah! — Yes,  there  was  a  sound  down  there  in  the 
hollow — footsteps,  reverberating  in  the  silence.  He 
bent  his  head  listening  intently.  The  footsteps 
seemed  to  approach  the  farm,  then  the  sounds 
ceased,  till  suddenly,  on  the  down  slope  below  him, 
he  saw  something  moving.  He  threw  back  his  head 
with  a  quiet  laugh. 

The  Ipscombe  policeman,  no  doubt,  on  his  round. 
Would  he  come  up  the  hill?  Hardly,  on  such  a 


HARVEST  299 

misty  night.  If  not,  his  retreating  steps  on  the  farm 
lane  would  soon  tell  his  departure. 

In  a  few  minutes,  indeed,  the  click  of  an  opening 
gate  could  be  clearly  heard  through  the  mist,  and 
afterwards,  steps.  They  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 
All  clear ! 

Choosing  a  circuitous  route,  Delane  crept  down 
the  hill,  and  reached  a  spot  on  the  down-side  rather 
higher  than  the  farm  enclosure,  from  which  the  win- 
dows of  the  farm-house  could  be  seen.  There  was  a 
faint  light  in  one  of  the  upper  two — in  which  he  had 
some  reason  to  think  was  that  of  Rachel's  bedroom. 
It  seemed  to  him  the  window  was  open;  he  perceived 
something  like  the  swaying  of  a  blind  inside  it.  The 
night  was  marvellously  mild  for  mid-November; 
and  he  remembered  Rachel's  old  craving  for  air, 
winter  and  summer. 

The  light  moved,  there  was  a  shadow  behind  the 
blind,  and  suddenly  the  window  was  thrown  up 
widely,  and  a  pale  figure — a  woman's  figure — stood 
in  the  opening.  Rachel,  no  doubt!  Delane  slipped 
behind  a  thorn  growing  on  the  bare  hill-side.  His 
heart  thumped.  Instinctively  his  hand  groped  for 
something  in  his  pocket.  If  she  had  guessed  that  he 
was  there — within  twenty  yards  of  her! 

Then,  as  he  watched  the  faint  apparition  in  the 
mist,  it  roused  in  him  a  fresh  gust  of  rage.  Rachel, 


300  HARVEST 

the  sentimental  Rachel,  unable  to  sleep — Rachel, 
happy  and  serene,  thinking  of  her  lover — the  lies  of 
her  divorce  all  forgotten — and  the  abominable 
Roger  cut  finally  out  of  her  life ! 

The  figure  disappeared;  he  heard  the  closing  of 
the  window,  which  was  soon  dark.  Then  he  crept 
down  to  the  farm  wall,  and  round  the  corner  of  it 
to  that  outer  cart-shed,  where  he  had  bound  up  his 
bleeding  hand  on  the  night  when  Halsey — silly  ass  1 
— had  seen  the  ghost.  He  did  not  dare  to  smoke 
lest  spark  or  smell  might  betray  him.  Sitting  on  a 
heap  of  sacks  in  a  sheltered  corner,  his  hands  hang- 
ing over  his  knees,  he  spent  some  long  time  brooding 
and  pondering — conscious  all  the  while  of  the  hid- 
den and  silent  life  of  the  house  and  farm  at  his  back. 
By  now  he  fancied  he  understood  the.  evening  ways 
of  the  place.  The  two  gir":  went  up  to  bed  first, 
about  nine ;  the  two  ladies,  about  an  hour  later ;  and 
the  farm  bailiff  as  a  rule  did  not  sleep  on  the  prem- 
ises, though  there  was  a  bed  in  the  loft  over  the 
stable  which  could  be  used  on  occasion.  That  win- 
dow, too,  through  which  he  had  watched  the  pair  of 
lovers,  when  the  Yankee  discovered  him — that  also 
seemed  to  fit  into  a  scheme. 

Yes! — the  Yankee  had  discovered  him.  His 
start,  his  sudden  movement  as  though  to  make  a  rush 
at  the  window,  had  shown  it.  Meanwhile  Delane 


HARVEST  301 

had  not  waited  for  developments.  Quick  as  thought 
he  had  made  for  one  of  those  sunken  climbing  lanes 
in  which  the  chalk  downs  of  the  district  abound,  a 
lane  which  lay  to  the  south  of  the  farm,  while  the 
green  terraced  path  connected  with  the  ghost-story 
lay  to  the  north  of  it.  No  doubt  there  had  been  a 
hue  and  cry,  a  search  of  the  farm  and  its  immediate 
neighbourhood.  But  the  night  was  dark  and  the 
woods  wide.  Once  in  their  shelter,  he  had  laughed 
at  pursuit.  What  had  the  Yankee  said  to  Rachel? 
And  since  he  had  stopped  her  in  the  lane,  what  had 
Rachel  been  saying  to  the  Yankee?  Had  she  yet 
explained  that  the  face  he  had  seen  at  the  window — 
supposing  always  that  he  had  told  her  what  he  had 
seen — and  why  shouldn't  he? — was  not  the  face  of 
a  casual  tramp  or  lunatic,  but  the  face  of  a  discarded 
husband,  to  whom  all  the  various  hauntings  and  ap- 
paritions at  the  farm  had  been  really  due? 

That  was  the  question — the  all-important  ques- 
tion. Clearly  some  one — Ellesborough  probably — 
had  given  a  warning  to  the  police.  On  what  theory? 
— ghost  ? — tramp  ? — or  husband  ? 

Or  had  Rachel  just  held  her  tongue,  and  had  the 
Yankee  been  led  to  believe  that  the  husband — for 
Rachel  must  have  owned  up  about  the  husband 
though  she  did  call  herself  Miss  Henderson! — was 
still  some  thousands  of  miles  away — in  Canada — 


302  HARVEST 

safely  dead  and  buried,  as  far  as  Rachel  was  con- 
cerned? 

On  the  whole,  he  thought  it  most  probable  that 
Rachel  had  held  her  tongue  about  his  reappearance. 
If  she  had  thought  it  worth  while  to  bribe  him  so 
heavily,  it  was  not  very  likely  that  she  would  now 
herself  have  set  the  American  on  the  track  of  a 
secret  which  she  so  evidently  did  not  want  an  expec- 
tant bridegroom  to  know. 

The  American — d — n  him!  A  furious  and  mor- 
bid jealousy  rushed  upon  the  man  crouching  under 
the  cart-shed.  The  world  was  rapidly  reducing  itself 
for  him  to  these  two  figures — figures  of  hate — fig- 
ures against  whom  he  felt  himself  driven  by  a  kind 
of  headlong  force,  a  force  of  destruction. 

How  still  the  farm  was,  except  for  the  movements 
of  the  cows  inside  the  shippen  at  his  back,  or  of  the 
horses  in  the  stable!  Rachel,  no  doubt,  was  now 
asleep.  In  the  old  days  he  had  often — enviously — 
watched  her  tumble  asleep  as  soon  as  her  bright  head 
was  on  the  pillow;  while  in  his  own  case  sleep  had 
been  for  years  a  difficult  business. 

Somebody  else  would  watch  her  sleeping  now. 

Yes,  if  he,  the  outcast,  allowed  it.  And  again  the 
frenzied  sense  of  power  swept  through  him.  //  he 
allowed  It!  It  rested  with  him. 


HARVEST  303 

The  following  day,  Ellesborough  set  out  in  the 
early  afternoon  for  Great  End  Farm,  the  bearer  of 
much  news. 

The  day  was  dark  and  rainy,  with  almost  a  gale 
blowing,  but  his  spirits  had  never  been  higher.  The 
exultation  of  the  great  victory,  the  incredible  Vic- 
tory, seemed  to  breathe  upon  him  from  the  gusty 
wind,  to  be  driving  the  westerly  clouds,  and  crying 
in  all  the  noises  of  the  woods.  Was  it  really  over? 
— over  and  done? — the  agony  of  these  four  years — 
the  hourly  sacrifice  of  irreplaceable  life — the  rack- 
ing doubt  as  to  the  end — the  torturing  question 
in  every  conscious  mind — "  Is  there  a  God  in 
Heaven — a  God  who  cares  for  men— or  is  there 
not?" 

He  could  have  shouted  the  answer  aloud — "  There 
is — there  is  a  God !  And  He  is  just." 

Faith  was  natural  to  him,  and  nourished  on  his 
new  happiness  no  less  than  on  the  marvellous  issue 
of  the  war,  it  set  his  heart  singing  on  this  dull  win- 
ter's day.  How  should  he  find  her?  Threshing, 
perhaps,  in  the  big  barn,  and  he  would  turn  to,  and 
work  with  her  and  the  girls  till  work  was  done,  and 
they  could  have  ,the  sitting-room  to  themselves,  and 
he  could  tell  her  all  his  news.  Janet — the  ever-kind 
and  thoughtful  Janet — would  see  to  that.  The 
more  he  saw  of  the  farm-life  the  more  he  admired 


304  HARVEST 

Janet.  She  was  a  little  slow.  She  was  not  clever; 
and  she  had  plenty  of  small  prejudices  which  amused 
him.  But  she  was  the  salt  of  the  earth.  Trust  her 
— lean  upon  her — she  would  never  let  you  down. 
And  now  he  was  going  to  trust  his  beloved  to  her — 
for  a  while.  . 

Yes — Rachel  and  the  girls,  they  were  all  in  the 
high  barn,  feeding  the  greedy  maw  of  the  threshing 
machine;  a  business  which  strained  muscles  and 
backs,  and  choked  noses  and  throats  with  infinitesi- 
mal particles  of  oil  and  the  fine  flying  chaff.  He 
watched  Rachel  a  few  minutes  as  she  lifted  and 
pitched — a  typical  figure  of  a  New  Labour,  which  is 
also  a  New  Beauty,  on  this  old  earth.  Then  he 
drew  her  away,  flung  off  his  tunic,  and  took  her  place, 
while  she,  smiling  and  panting,  her  hands  on  her 
sides,  leaned  against  the  wall,  and  watched  in  her 
turn. 

Then  when  the  engine  stopped,  and  the  great  hop- 
per full  of  grain  lay  ready  for  the  miller,  they  found 
themselves  alone  in  the  barn  for  a  minute.  The  girls 
and  Janet  had  gone  to  milk,  and  Hastings  with  them. 
There  was  a  lantern  in  the  barn,  which  showed 
Rachel  in  the  swirl  of  the  corn  dust  with  which  the 
barn  was  full,  haloed  and  golden  with  it,  like  a 
Homeric  goddess  in  a  luminous  cloud.  Her  soft 
brown  head,  her  smile,  showing  the  glint  of  her 


HARVEST  305 

white  teeth,  her  eyes,  and  all  the  beauty  of  her 
young  form,  in  its  semi-male  dress — they  set  his 
blood  on  fire.  Just  as  he  was,  in  his  khaki  shirt- 
sleeves, he  came  to  her,  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 
She  clung  to  him  passionately. 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  coming." 

It  was  one  of  the  reproaches  that  have  no  sting. 

"  I  came  at  the  first  moment.  I  left  a  score  of 
things  undone." 

"  Have  you  been  thinking  of  me?  " 

"  Always — always.    And  you?  " 

"  Nearly  always,"  she  said  teasingly.  "  But  I 
have  been  making  up  my  accounts." 

"  Avaricious  woman ! — thinking  of  nothing  but 
money.  Dear — I  have  several  bits  of  news  for  you. 
But  let  me  wash !  "  He  held  out  his  hands — "  I  am 
not  fit  to  touch  you !  " 

She  disengaged  herself  quietly. 

"What  news?" 

"  Some  letters  first,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  A  budget 
and  a  half — mostly  for  you,  from  all  my  home  peo- 
ple. Can  you  face  it?  " 

"In  reply  to  your  cable?" 

u  My  most  extravagant  cable !  On  the  top  of 
course  of  sacks  of  letters !  " 

"  Before  we  were  engaged?  " 

He  laughed  as  he  thrust  his  arms  into  his  tunic. 


3o6  HARVEST 

"  My  mother  seems  to  have  guessed  from  my  very 
first  mention  of  you." 

"But — she  doesn't  know  yet?"  said  Rachel, 
slowly. 

They  had  passed  out  of  the  range  of  the  lantern. 
He  could  not  see  her  face,  could  only  just  hear  her 
voice. 

"  No,  not  yet,  dear.  My  last  long  letter  should 
reach  her  next  week." 

Her  hand  lay  close  in  his  as  they  groped  their  way 
to  the  door.  When  he  unlatched  it  they  came  out 
into  the  light  of  a  stormy  sunset.  The  rain  had  mo- 
mentarily ceased,  and  there  were  fiery  lines  of  crim- 
son burning  their  way  through  the  black  cloud  masses 
in  the  western  sky.  The  red  light  caught  Rachel's 
face  and  hair.  But  even  so,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  was  pale. 

"I  say — you've  done  too  much  threshing!"  he 
said  with  energy.  "  Don't  do  any  more — get  an 
extra  man." 

"  Can't  find  one,"  she  said,  laughing  at  him,  but 
rather  languidly.  "  I'll  go  and  get  the  tea  ready." 

He  went  off  to  wash,  and  when  he  entered  the 
sitting-room  a  little  later,  she  too  was  fresh  and  neat 
again,  in  a  new  frock  of  some  soft  bluish-green  stuff, 
which  pleased  his  eye  amazingly.  Outside,  the  sun- 
set was  dying  rapidly,  and  at  a  sign  from  her,  he 


HARVEST  307 

drew  down  the  blinds  over  the  two  windows,  and 
pulled  the  curtains  close.  He  stood  at  the  window 
looking  at  the  hill-side  for  a  moment  with  the  blind 
in  his  hand.  He  was  recalling  the  face  he  had  seen, 
of  which  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  had  yet  said  a 
word  to  Rachel;  recalling  also  his  talk  with  one  of 
the  Millsborough  police  the  day  before.  "  Nothing 
more  heard  of  him,  Captain.  Oh,  we  get  queer 
people  about  these  hills  sometimes.  It's  a  very 
lonely  bit  of  country.  Why,  a  year  ago,  we  were 
hunting  a  couple  of  German  prisoners  about  these 
commons  for  days !  " 

"Any  more  ghosts?"  he  said  lightly,  glancing 
round  at  Rachel,  as  he  drew  the  curtains  across. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.    Come  and  have  your  tea." 

He  took  a  cup  from  her  hand,  and  leaning  against 
the  chimney  surveyed  the  room  with  a  radiant  face. 
Then  he  stooped  over  her  and  said: — 

"  I  love  this  little  room  1    Don't  you  ?  " 

She  made  a  restless  movement. 

"  I  don't  know.    Why  do  you  love  it?  " 

"  As  if  you  didn't  know !  "  Their  eyes  met,  his 
intense  and  passionate, — hers,  less  easy  to  read. 
"  Darling,  I  .^ave  some  other  news  for  you.  I  think 
you'll  like  it — though  it'll  separate  us  for  a  little." 

And  drawing  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  he  handed 
it  to  her.  It  was  a  letter  from  the  American  Head- 


3o8  HARVEST 

quarters,  offering  him  immediate  work  in  the  Ameri- 
can Intelligence  Department  at  Coblentz. 

"  Some  friends  of  mine  there,  seem  to  have  been 
getting  busy  about  me.  You  see  I  know  German 
pretty  well." 

And  he  explained  to  her  that  as  a  boy  he  had  spent 
a  year  in  Germany  before  going  to  Yale.  She 
scarcely  listened,  so  absorbed  was  she  in  the  official 
letter. 

"When  must  you  go?"  she  said  at  last,  look- 
ing up. 

"  At  the  end  of  next  week,  I'm  afraid." 

"  And  how  long  will  it  be?  " 

"  That  I  don't  know.  But  three  or  four  months 
certainly.  It  will  put  off  our  wedding,  dearest,  a  bit. 
But  you'd  like  me  to  go,  wouldn't  you  ?  I  should  be 
at  the  hub  of  things." 

The  colour  rushed  into  her  cheeks. 

" Must  you  go?" 

Her  manner  amazed  him.  He  had  expected  that 
one  so  ambitious  and  energetic  in  her  own  way  of 
life  would  have  greeted  his  news  with  eagerness. 
The  proposal  was  really  a  great  compliment  to  him 
• — and  a  great  chance. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  could  refuse  it,"  he  said  with 
an  altered  countenance.  "  Indeed — I  don't  think  I 
could." 


HARVEST  309 

She  dropped  her  face  into  her  hands,  and  stared 
into  the  fire.  In  some  trouble  of  mind,  he  knelt 
down  beside  her,  and  put  his  arm  round  her. 

"  I'll  write  every  day.  It  won't  be  long,  dar- 
ling." 

She  shook  her  head,  and  he  felt  a  shudder  run 
through  her. 

"  It's  silly  of  me — I  don't  know  why — but — I'm 
just  afraid " 

"Afraid  of  what?" 

She  smiled  at  him  tremulously — but  lie  saw  the 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  told  you — I  can't  always  help  it.  I'm  a  fool, 
I  suppose — but " 

Then  she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck — mur- 
muring in  his  ear :  "  You'll  have  time  to  think — > 
when  you're  away  from  me — that  it  was  a  great  pity 
— you  ever  asked  me." 

He  kissed  and  scolded  her,  till  she  smiled  again. 
Afterwards  she  made  a  strong  effort  to  discuss  the 
thing  reasonably.  Of  course  he  must  go — it  would 
be  a  great  opening — a  great  experience.  And  they 
would  have  all  the  more  time  to  consider  their  own 
affairs.  But  all  the  evening  afterwards  he  felt  in 
some  strange  way  that  he  had  struck  her  a  blow  from 
which  she  was  trying  in  vain  to  rally.  Was  it  all 
the  effect  of  her  suffering  at  that  brute's  hands — 


310  HARVEST 

aided  by  the  emotion  and  strain  of  the  recent  scenes 
between  herself  and  him? 

As  for  her,  when  she  turned  back  from  the  gate 
where  she  had  bid  him  good-bye,  she  saw  Janet  in 
the  doorway  waiting  for  her  almost  with  a  sense  of 
exasperation.  She  had  not  yet  said  one  word  to 
Janet.  That  plunge  was  all  to  take ! 


XIV 

RACHEL  woke  the  following  morning  in  that 
dreary  mood  when  all  the  colour  and  the 
glamour  seem  to  have  been  washed  out  of 
life,  and  the  hopes  and  dreams  which  keep  up  a 
perpetual  chatter  in  every  normal  mind  are  suddenly 
dumb. 

How  was  she  going  to  face  Ellesborough's  long 
absence?  It  had  been  recently  assumed  between 
them  that  he  would  be  very  soon  released  from  his 
forestry  post,  that  the  infantry  commission  he  had 
been  promised  would  come  to  nothing,  now  the  Ar- 
mistice was  signed,  and  that  in  a  very  few  weeks 
they  would  be  free  to  think  only  of  themselves  and 
their  own  future.  This  offer  of  Intelligence  work 
at  the  American  Headquarters  had  changed  every- 
thing. 

In  ten  days,  if  nothing  happened,  he  would  be 
gone,  and  she  would  be  left  behind  to  grapple  alone 
with  Roger — who  might  at  any  moment  torment  her 
again ;  with  the  presence  of  Dempsey,  who  was  think- 
ing of  settling  in  the  village,  and  for  whom  she 
would  be  called  upon  very  soon  to  fulfil  the  hopes 

3" 


3i2  HARVEST 

she  had  raised  in  him;  and  finally,  with  the  struggle 
and  misery  in  her  own  mind. 

But  something  must  happen.  As  she  was  dressing 
by  candle-light  in  the  winter  dawn,  her  thoughts 
were  rushing  forward — leaping  some  unexplored 
obstacles  lying  in  the  foreground — to  a  possible  mar- 
riage before  Ellesborough  went  to  France;  just  a 
quiet  walk  to  a  registry  office,  without  any  fuss  or 
any  witness  but  Janet.  If  she  could  reach  that 
haven,  she  would  be  safe;  and  this  dumb  fever  of 
anxiety,  this  terrified  conviction  that  in  the  end  Fate 
would  somehow  take  him  from  her,  would  be 
soothed  away. 

But  how  to  reach  it?  For  there  was  now  between 
them,  till  they  also  were  revealed  and  confessed,  a 
whole  new  series  of  events :  not  only  the  Tanner  epi- 
sode, but  Delane's  reappearance,  her  interview  with 
him,  her  rash  attempt  to  silence  Dempsey.  By  what 
she  had  done  in  her  bewilderment  and  fear,  in  order 
to  escape  the  penalty  of  frankness,  she  might  only — 
as  she  was  now  beginning  to  perceive — have  stum- 
bled into  fresh  dangers.  It  was  as  though  she  stood 
on  the  friable  edge  of  some  great  crater,  some  gulf 
of  destruction,  on  which  her  feet  were  perpetually 
slipping  and  sinking,  and  only  Ellesborough' s  hold 
could  ultimately  save  her. 

And    Janet's — Janet's    first.     Rachel's    thought 


HARVEST  313 

clung  to  her,  as  the  shipwrecked  Southern  sailor 
turns  to  his  local  saint  to  intercede  for  him  with  the 
greater  spiritual  lights.  Janet's  counsel  and  help — 
she  knew  she  must  ask  for  them — that  it  was  the 
next  step.  Yet  she  had  been  weakly  putting  it  off 
day  by  day.  And  through  this  mist  of  doubt  and 
dread,  there  kept  striking  all  the  time,  as  though 
quite  independent  of  it,  the  natural  thoughts  of  a 
woman  in  love. 

During  the  farm  breakfast,  hurried  through  by 
candle-light,  with  rain  beating  on  the  windows, 
Rachel  was  thinking — "  Why  didn't  he  propose  it?  " 
— this  scheme  of  marrying  before  he  went.  Wasn't 
it  a  most  natural  thing  to  occur  to  him?  She  tor- 
mented herself  all  the  morning  with  the  problem  of 
his  silence. 

Then — as  though  in  rebuke  of  her  folly — at  mid- 
day came  a  messenger,  a  boy  on  a  bicycle,  with  a  let- 
ter. She  took  it  up  to  her  own  room,  and  read  it 
with  fluttering  breath — laughing,  yet  with  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"  My  Darling — What  an  idiot  I  was  last  night ! 
This  morning  I  have  woke  up  to  a  brilliant  idea — • 
why  I  didn't  propose  it  to  you  yesterday  I  can't 
imagine !  Let  us  marry  before  I  go.  Meet  me  in 
London,  a  week  to-day,  and  let  us  go  into  the  country, 


3i4  HARVEST 

or  to  the  sea,  for  a  blessed  forty-eight  hours,  after- 
wards. Then  you  will  see  me  off — and  I  shall 
know,  wherever  I  go,  that  you  are  my  very,  very 
own,  and  I  am  yours.  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you. 
Take  time  to  think,  and  write  to  me  to-night,  or 
wire  me  to-morrow  morning.  But  the  very  idea  that 
you  may  say  *  Yes '  makes  me  the  happiest  of  men. 
Take  time  to  think — but — all  the  same — don't  keep 
me  too  long  waiting! 

"  Your  own, 

11  G.  E." 

All  day  she  kept  the  letter  hidden  in  the  loose 
front  of  her  dress.  "  I'll  wire  to-morrow  morning," 
she  thought.  But  before  that — something  had  got 
to  happen.  Every  now  and  then  she  would  pause 
in  her  own  work  to  watch  Janet — Janet  butter- 
making,  Janet  feeding  the  calves,  Janet  cooking — 
for  on  that  homely  figure  in  white  cap  and  apron 
everything  seemed  to  depend. 

The  frost  had  come,  and  clear  skies  with  it.  The 
day  passed  in  various  miscellaneous  Business,  under 
shelter,  in  the  big  barn. 

And  at  night,  after  supper,  Rachel  stood  on  the 
front  steps  looking  into  a  wide  starry  heaven,  moon- 
less, cold,  and  still.  Betty  and  Jenny  had  just  gone 
up  to  bed.  Janet  was  in  the  kitchen,  putting  the  por- 


HARVEST  315 

ridge  for  the  morrow's  breakfast  which  she  had  just 
made  into  the  hay-box,  which  would  keep  it  steaming 
all  night.  But  she  would  soon  have  done  work. 
The  moment  seemed  to  have  come. 

Rachel  walked  into  the  kitchen  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her.  The  supper  had  been  cleared  away 
and  the  table  on  which  they  had  eaten  it  shone  spot- 
lessly clean  and  bare.  The  fire  would  soon  be  raked 
out  for  the  night,  and  Janet  would  lay  the  breakfast 
before  she  left  the  kitchen.  Everything  was  in  the 
neatest  possible  order,  and  the  brilliant  polish  of  a 
great  stew-pan  hanging  on  the  wall  particularly 
caught  the  eye.  Janet  was  humming  to  herself — 
one  of  the  war  tunes — when  Rachel  entered. 

"  Janet,  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

Janet  looked  up — startled.  And  yet  something  in 
her  was  not  startled!  She  had  been  strangely  ex- 
pectant all  these  days.  It  seemed  to  her  she  had 
already  seen  Rachel  come  in  like  that — had  already 
heard  her  say  those  words. 

She  shut  up  the  hay-box,  and  came  gently  for- 
ward. 

"Here,  Rachel?" 

'You've  nearly  done?" 

"  In  a  few  minutes.  If  you'll  go  into  the  sitting- 
room,  I'll  join  you  directly." 

And  while  she  hurried  through  the  rest  of  her 


3i6  HARVEST 

work,  her  mind  was  really  running  forward  in 
prophecy.  She  more  or  less  knew  what  she  was  go- 
ing to  hear.  And  as  she  closed  the  kitchen  door  be- 
hind her  there  was  in  her  a  tremulous  sense  as  though 
of  some  sacred  responsibility. 

Rachel  was  crouching  over  the  fire  as  usual,  and 
Janet  drew  up  a  stool  beside  her,  and  laid  a  hand 
on  her  knee. 

"What  is  it?" 

Rachel  turned. 

"  I  told  you  one  secret,  Janet,  the  other  day. 

Now  this  is  another.  And  it's "  She  flushed, 

and  broke  off,  beginning  again  after  a  moment — "  I 
didn't  mean  to  tell  you,  or  any  one.  I  can't  make  up 
my  mind  whether  I'm  bound  to  or  not.  But  I  want 
you  to  advise  me,  Janet.  I'm  awfully  troubled." 

And  suddenly,  she  slipped  to  the  floor,  and  laid 
her  head  against  Janet's  knees,  hiding  her  face. 

Janet  bent  over  her,  instinctively  caressing  the 
brown  hair.  She  was  only  three  or  four  years  older 
than  Rachel,  but  she  looked  much  older,  and  the 
close  linen  cap  she  wore  on  butter-making  afternoons, 
and  had  not  yet  removed,  gave  her  a  gently  austere 
look,  like  that  of  a  religious. 

"  Tell  me— I'll  do  my  best." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Rachel,  in  a  low  voice, 
"  who  do  you  think  was  the  ghost?  " 


HARVEST  317 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  The  ghost — was  Roger  Delane  !  " 

Janet  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  hor- 
ror— while  fact  after  fact  rushed  together  in  her 
mind,  fitting  into  one  explanatory  whole.  Why  had 
she  never  thought  of  that  possibility,  among  all  the 
others? 

"  Oh,  Rachel,  have  you  ever  seen  him?" 

"  Twice.  He  stopped  me  on  the  road,  when  I 
was  coming  back  from  Millsborough  on  Armistice 
Day.  And  he  came  to  see  me  the  day  after.  You 
remember  you  were  astonished  to  find  I  had  sent  the 
girls  to  the  Shepherds'  dance  ?  I  did  it  to  get  them 
out  of  the  way — and  if  you  hadn't  said  you  were 
going  to  that  service  I  should  have  had  to  invent 
something  to  send  you  away." 

"  I  always  thought  he  was  in  Canada  ? "  said 
Janet,  in  bewilderment.  "What  did  he  want? 
Have  you  told  Captain  Ellesborough  ?  " 

"  No,  I  haven't  told  George.  I  don't  know 
whether  I  shall.  Roger  wanted  money — as  usual. 
I  gave  him  some." 

"  You  gave  him  some!   Rachel!  " 

"  I  had  to — I  had  to  buy  him  off.  And  T  /e  seen 
John  Dempsey  also  without  your  knowing.  And 
I've  had  to  bribe  him  too." 

Rachel  was  now  sitting  up,  very  hard  and  erect,. 


3i8  HARVEST 

her  hands  round  her  knees.  Her  first  object  seemed 
to  be  to  avoid  emotion,  and  to  prevent  Janet  from 
showing  any.  Janet  had  gone  very  pale.  The  name 
"  Dick  Tanner  "  was  drumming  in  her  ear. 

"  I  know  you  can't  understand  me,  Janet,"  said 
Rachel,  after  a  pause,  "  you  could  never  do  what  I've 
done.  I  dare  say  when  you've  let  me  tell  you  the 
story  you'll  not  be  able  to  forgive  me.  You'll  think 
I  ought  never  to  have  let  you  settle  with  me — that 
I  told  a  lie  when  I  said  I  wasn't  a  bad  woman — that 
I've  disgraced  you.  I  hope  you  won't.  That — that 
would  about  finish  it."  Her  voice  shook  at  last. 

Janet  was  speechless.  But  instinctively  she  laid  a 
hand  on  Rachel's  shoulder.  And  at  the  touch,  in  a 
moment,  the  story  came  out. 

Confused  and  hardly  intelligible !  For  Rachel 
herself  could  scarcely  now  disentangle  all  the  threads 
and  motives  of  it.  But  certain  things  stood  out — • 
the  figure  of  a  young  artist,  sensitive,  pure-minded, 
sincere,  with  certain  fatal  weaknesses  of  judgment 
and  will,  which  had  made  him  a  rolling  stone,  and 
the  despair  of  his  best  friends,  but,  as  compared  with 
Roger  Delane  after  six  months  of  marriage — Hy- 
perion to  a  satyr;  then  the  attraction  of  such  a  man 
for  his  neighbour,  a  young  wife,  brought  up  in  a 
refined  home,  the  child  of  a  saint  and  dreamer,  out- 
raged since  her  marriage  in  every  fibre  by  the  con- 


HARVEST  319 

duct  and  ways  of  her  husband,  and  smarting  under 
the  sense  of  her  own  folly;  their  friendship,  so 
blameless  till  its  last  moment,  with  nothing  to  hide, 
and  little  to  regret,  a  woman's  only  refuge  indeed 
from  hours  of  degradation  and  misery;  and  finally 
the  triumph  of  something  which  was  not  passion,  at 
least  on  Rachel's  side,  but  of  mere  opportunity, 
strengthened,  made  irresistible,  by  the  woman's 
pain  and  despair:  so  the  tale,  the  common  tale, 
ran. 

"  I  didn't  love  him,"  said  Rachel  at  last,  her  hands 
over  her  eyes — "  I  don't  pretend  I  did.  I  liked  him 
— I  was  awfully  sorry  for  him — as  he  was  for  me. 
But — well,  there  it  is !  I  went  over  to  his  house.  I 
honestly  thought  his  sister  was  there ;  but,  above  all, 
I  wanted  him  to  sympathize  with  me — and  pity  me 
— because  he  knew  everything.  And  she  wasn't 
there — and  I  stayed  three  days  and  nights  with  him. 
Voila!  " 

There  was  silence  a  little.  Janet's  thoughts  were 
in  a  tumult.  Rachel  began  again: 

"Now,  why  am  I  telling  you  all  this?  I  need 
never  have  told  anybody — at  least  up  to  a  few  days 
ago.  Poor  Dick  was  drowned  just  before  I  got  my 
divorce,  in  a  boat  accident  on  Lake  Nipissing.  He 
had  gone  there  to  paint,  and  was  camping  out.  If 
he  hadn't  been  drowned,  perhaps,  he  would  have 


320  HARVEST 

made  me  marry  him.  So  there  was  no  one  in  the 
world  who  knew  I  was  ever  with  him  except " 

She  turned  sharply  upon  Janet — 

u  Except  this  man  who  turned  up  here  in  George's 
own  camp — and  in  the  village,  two  months  ago,  but 
whom  I  never  saw  till  this  week — this  week — Ar- 
mistice Day — John  Dempsey.  That  was  a  queer 
chance,  wasn't  it?  The  sort  of  thing  nobody  could 
have  expected.  I  was  coming  back  from  Mills- 
borough.  I  was — well,  just  that  evening,  I  was  aw- 
fully happy.  I  expected  nothing.  And  then — 
within  twenty  minutes — — " 

She  told  the  story  to  Janet's  astounded  ears,  of 
the  two  apparitions  in  the  road,  of  her  two  inter- 
views— first  with  Dempsey,  and  the  following  even- 
ing with  Delane — and  of  her  own  attempts  to  bribe 
them  both. 

And  at  that  her  composure  broke  down. 

'Why  did  I  do  it?"  she  said  wildly,  springing 
to  her  feet.  "  It  was  idiotic  1  Why  didn't  I  just 
accept  the  boy's  story,  and  say  quietly,  *  Yes,  I  was 
staying  with  the  Tanners'  ?  And  why  didn't  I  defy 
Roger — go  straight  to  George,  and  hand  him  over 
to  the  police?  Don't  you  see  why?  Because  it  is 
true! — it's  true! — and  I'm  terrified.  If  I  lost 
George,  I  should  kill  'myself.  I  never  thought  I 
should  be- — I  could  be — in  love  with  anybody  like 


HARVEST  321 

this.  But  yet  I  suppose  it  was  in  me  all  the  time.  I 
was  always  seeking — reaching  out — to  somebody  I 
could  love  with  every  bit  of  me,  soul  and  body — 
somebody  I  could  follow — for  I  can't  manage  for 
myself — I'm  not  like  you,  Janet.  And  now  I've 
found  him — and Do  you  know  what  that  is?  " 

She  pulled  a  letter  out  of  her  pocket,  and  looked 
at  Janet  through  a  mist  of  despairing  tears. 

"  It's  a  letter  from  George.  It  came  this  morning. 
He  wants  me  to  marry  him  at  once — next  week. 
He's  got  some  new  work  in  France,  and  he  saw  that 
I  was  miserable  because  he  was  going  away.  And 
why  shouldn't  I?  Why  shouldn't  I?  I  love  him. 
There's  nothing  wrong  with  me,  except  that  wretched 
story.  Well,  there  are  two  reasons.  First " — she 
spoke  with  slow  and  bitter  emphasis — "  I  don't  be- 
lieve for  a  moment  Roger  will  keep  his  word.  I 
know  him.  He  is  frightfully  ill.  He  says  he's 
dying.  He  may  die — before  he's  got  through  this 
money.  That  would  be  the  best  thing  that  could 
happen  to  me — wouldn't  it?  But  probably  he  won't 
die — and  certainly  he'll  get  through  the  money! 
Then  he'll  come  back — and  I  shall  begin  bribing  him 
again — and  telling  lies  to  hide  it  from  George — and 
in  the  end  it'll  be  no  use — for  Roger's  quite  reckless 
— you  can't  appeal  to  him  through  anything  but 
money.  He'll  see  George,  whatever  I  do,  and  try  it 


322  HARVEST 

on  with  him.  And  then — George  wil]  know  how  to 
deal  with  him,  I  dare  say — but  when  we  are  alone — 
and  he  asks  me " 

She  sank  down  again  on  the  floor,  kneeling,  and 
put  her  hands  on  Janet's  knees. 

"  You  see,  Janet,  don't  you?    You  see?  " 

It  was  the  cry  of  a  soul  in  anguish. 

"  You  poor,  poor  thing!  " 

Janet,  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  bowed  her 
head  on  Rachel's,  and  the  two  clung  together,  in 
silence,  broken  only  by  two  deep  sobs  from  Rachel. 
Then  Janet  disengaged  herself.  She  was  pale,  but 
no  longer  agitated,  and  her  blue  eyes  which  were  her 
only  beauty  were  clear  and  shining. 

"  You'll  let  me  say  just  what  I  feel,  Rachel?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  You  can't  marry  him  without  telling  him.  No, 
no — you  couldn't  do  that !  " 

Rachel  said  nothing.  She  was  sitting  on  the  floor, 
her  eyes  turned  away  from  Janet. 

"  You  couldn't  do  that,  Rachel,"  Janet  resumed, 
as  though  she  were  urgently  thinking  her  way; 
"  you'd  never  have  a  happy  moment." 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,"  said  Rachel,  throwing  up 
her  head  with  a  half  scornful  gesture.  "  One  says 
that — but  how  do  you  know?  I  might  never  think 
of  it  again — if  Roger  and  that  man  Dempsey  were 


HARVEST  323 

out  of  the  way.  It's  dead — it's  dead!  Why  do  we 
trouble  about  such  things !  " 

"  It  would  be  dead,"  said  Janet  in  a  low  voice, 
"  if  you'd  told  him — and  he'd  forgiven!  " 

"  What  has  he  to  do  with  it?  "  cried  Rachel,  stub- 
bornly, u  it  was  before  he  knew  me.  I  was  a  differ- 
ent being." 

"  No — it  is  always  the  same  self,  which  we  are 
making,  all  the  time.  Don't  you  see — dear,  dear 
Rachel! — it's  your  chance  now  to  put  it  all  behind 
you — just  by  being  true.  Oh,  I  don't  want  to  preach 
to  you — but  I  see  it  so  clearly !  " 

"  But  it  isn't  as  a  man  would  see  it — a  man  like 
George,"  said  Rachel,  shaking  her  head.  "  Look 
there  " — she  pointed  to  a  little  bundle  of  letters  ly- 
ing on  the  table — "  there  are  letters  from  his  people 
which  he  brought  me  this  morning.  It's  awful! — 
how  they  take  me  at  his  valuation — just  because  he 
loves  me.  I  must  be  everything  that's  good,  because 
he  says  so.  And  you  can  see  what  kind  of  people 
they  are — what  they  think  of  him — and  what  they 
imagine  about  me — what  they  think  I  must  be — for 
him  to  love  me.  I  don't  mean  they're  prigs — they 
aren't  a  bit.  It's  just  their  life  coming  out,  quite  nat- 
urally. You  see  what  they  are — quite  simply — what 
they  can't  help  being,  and  what  they  expect  from 
him  and  the  woman  he  marries.  And  he's  got  to 


324  HARVEST 

take  me  home  to  them — some  time — to  present  me 
to  them.  The  divorce  is  difficult  enough.  Even  if 
they  think  of  me  as  quite  innocent,  it  will  be  hard 
for  them,  that  George  should  marry  a  divorced 


woman." 


'What  have  they  to  do  with  it?"  interrupted 
Janet.  "  It's  only  George  that  matters — no  other 
person  has  any  right  whatever  to  know!  You 
needn't  consider  anybody  else." 

'  Yes — but  think  of  him.  It's  bad  enough  that  I 
should  know  something  he  doesn't  know — but  at 
least  he's  spared.  He  can  take  me  home  to  his 
mother — whom  he  adores — and  if  /  know  that  I'm 
a  cheat  and  a  sham — he  doesn't — it  will  be  all  easy 
for  him." 

Janet  was  silenced  for  the  moment  by  the  sheer 
passion  of  the  voice.  She  sat,  groping  a  little,  under 
the  stress  of  her  own  thought,  and  praying  inwardly 
t — without  words — for  light  and  guidance. 

"  And  think  of  me,  please !  "  Rachel  went  on. 
"  If  I  tell  him,  it's  done — for  ever.  He'll  forgive 
me,  I  think.  He  may  be  everything  that's  dear,  and 
good,  and  kind  " — her  voice  broke — "  but  it'd  hit 
him  dreadfully  hard.  A  man  like  that  can't  forget 
such  a  thing.  When  I've  once  said  it,  I  shall  have 
changed  everything  between  us.  He  must  think — 
some  time — when  he's  alone — when  I'm  not  there 


HARVEST  325 

— *  It  was  Dick  Tanner  once — it  will  be  some  one 
else  another  time ! '  I  shall  have  been  pulled  down 
from  the  place  where  he  puts  me  now — even  after 
he  knows  all  about  Roger  and  the  divorce — pulled 
down  for  good  and  all — however  much  he  may  pity 
me — however  good  he  may  be  to  me.  It  will  be  love 
perhaps — but  another  kind  of  love.  He  can't  trust 
me  again.  No  one  could.  And  it's  that  I  can't  bear 
— I  can't  bear!  " 

She  looked  defiantly  at  Janet,  and  the  little  room 
with  its  simple  furnishings  seemed  too  small  a  stage 
for  such  an  energy  of  fear  and  distress. 

'  Yes — that  you  could  bear,"  said  Janet  quietly, 
"  with  him  to  help  you — and  God.  It  would  all 
straighten  out  in  the  end — because  the  first  step 
would  be  right." 

Rachel  turned  upon  her. 

"  Now  that  I've  told  you,"  she  cried,  "  can  you 
ever  think  the  same  of  me  again?  You  know  you 
can't!" 

Janet  caught  her  cold  hands,  and  held  them  close, 
looking  up  to  her. 

"  Not  the  same — no,  not  the  same  !  But  if  I  cared 
for  you  before,  Rachel — I  care  for  you  ten  thousand 
times  more  now.  Don't  you  see? — it  will  be  the 
same  with  him?  " 

Rachel  shook  her  head. 


326  HARVEST 

"  No — a  man's  different,"  she  repeated,  "  a  man's 
different!" 

"  Anyway,  you  must/'  said  Janet  resolutely,  "  you 
know  you  must.  You  don't  need  me  to  tell  you." 

Rachel  wrenched  herself  away  with  a  little  moan 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  as  she  leaned  against 
the  mantelpiece.  Janet,  looking  up,  and  transfigured 
by  that  spiritual  energy,  that  ultimate  instinctive 
faith  which  was  the  root  force  in  her,  went  on 
pleading. 

"  Dear  Rachel,  one  goes  on  living  side  by  side- 
doing  one's  daily  work — and  thinking  just  one's  or- 
dinary thoughts — and  all  the  time  one  never  speaks 
of  the  biggest  things  of  all — the  only  things  that 
matter,  really.  Isn't  it  God  that  matters — and  the 
law  in  our  hearts?  If  we  break  it — if  we  aren't 
true — if  we  wrong  those  that  love  us — if  we  injure 
and  deceive — how  will  it  be  when  we  grow  old — 
when  we  come  to  die?  Whatever  our  gain — we 
shall  have  lost  our  souls?  " 

"  You  think  I  should  injure  him  by  marrying 
him?"  cried  Rachel. 

"  No — no !  A  thousand  times,  no !  But  by  de- 
ceiving him — by  not  trusting  him — with  all  your 
heart,  and  all  your  life — that  would  be  the  worst 
injury." 

"  How  do  you  know  all  there  may  have  been  in 


HARVEST  327 

his  life?"  said  Rachel,  vehemently—"  I  don't  ask." 

"  I  think  you  do  know." 

Rachel  considered  the  words,  finally  dropping  her 
face  again  out  of  sight. 

;{  Well,  I  dare  say  I  do !  "  she  said  wearily.  '*  Of 
course  he's  a  hundred  times  too  good  for  me." 

"  Don't  turn  it  off  like  that!  It's  for  oneself  one 
has  to  think — one's  own  fulfilling  of  the  law.  Love 
— is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law.  And  love  means  trust 
— and  truth." 

Janet's  voice  sank.  She  had  said  her  say.  Rachel 
was  silent  for  some  time,  and  Janet  sat  motionless. 
The  clock  and  the  fire  were  the  only  sounds.  At 
last  Rachel  moved.  With  a  long  sigh,  she  pressed 
back  the  ruffled  hair  from  her  temples,  and  standing 
tiptoe  before  a  small  mirror  that  hung  over  the 
mantelpiece,  she  began  to  pin  up  some  coils  that  had 
broken  loose.  When  that  was  done,  she  turned 
slowly  towards  Janet. 

"Very  well.  That's  settled.  How  shall  it  be 
done?  Shall  I  write  it  or  say  it?  " 

Janet  gasped  a  little  between  laughing  and  crying. 
Then  she  caught  Rachel's  cold  unresisting  hand,  and 
laid  it  tenderly  against  her  own  cheek. 

"  Write  it." 

"  All  right."  The  voice  was  that  of  an  automaton. 
"How  shall  I  send  it?" 


328  HARVEST 

4  Would  you — would  you  trust  me  to  take  it?  " 

'  You  mean — you'd  talk  to  him?  " 

"  If  you  gave  me  leave." 

Rachel  thought  a  little,  and  then  made  a 
scarcely  perceptible  sign  of  assent.  A  few  more 
words  passed  as  to  the  best  time  at  which  to  find 
Ellesborough  at  leisure.  It  was  decided  that  Janet 
should  aim  at  catching  him  in  the  midday  dinner 
hour.  "  I  should  bicycle,  and  get  home  before  dark." 

"  And  now  let's  talk  of  something  else,"  said 
Rachel,  imperiously. 

She  found  some  business  letters  that  had  to  be 
answered,  and  set  to  work  on  them.  Janet  wrote  up 
her  milk  records  and  dairy  accounts.  The  fire  sank 
gently  to  its  end.  Janet's  cat  came  with  tail  out- 
stretched, and  rubbed  itself  sociably,  first  against 
Janet's  skirts,  and  then  against  Rachel.  No  trace 
remained  in  the  little  room,  where  the  two  women 
sat  at  their  daily  work,  of  the  scene  which  had 
passed  between  them,  except  in  Rachel's  pallor,  and 
the  occasional  shaking  of  her  hand  as  it  passed  over 
the  paper. 

Then  when  Janet  put  up  her  papers  with  a  look 
at  the  clock,  which  was  just  going  to  strike  ten 
o'clock,  Rachel  too  cleared  away,  and  with  that  in- 
stinct for  air  and  the  open  which  was  a  relic  of  her 
Canadian  life,  and  made  any  closed  room  after  a 


HARVEST  329 

time  an  oppression  to  her,  she  threw  a  cloak  over 
her  shoulders,  and  went  out  again  to  breathe  the 
night.  There  was  a  young  horse  who,  on  the 
previous  day,  had  needed  the  vet.  She  went  across 
the  yard  to  the  stable  to  look  at  him. 

All  was  well  with  the  horse,  whose  swollen  hock 
had  been  comfortably  bandaged  by  Hastings  before 
he  left.  But  as  she  stood  beside  him,  close  to  the 
divided  door,  opening  on  the  hill,  of  which  both  the 
horizontal  halves  were  now  shut,  she  was  aware  of 
certain  movements  on  the  other  side  of  the  door — 
some  one  passing  it — footsteps.  Her  nerves  gave  a 
jump.  Could  it  be? — again!  Impetuously  she  went 
to  the  door,  threw  open  the  upper  half,  and  looked 
out.  Nothing — but  the  faint  starlight  on  the  hill, 
and  the  woods  crowning  it. 

She  called. 

;'  Who's  there?  "    But  no  one  answered. 

Fancy,  of  course.  But  with  the  knowledge  she 
now  had,  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  go  round  the 
farm.  Instead  she  carefully  closed  the  stable 
shutter,  and  ran  back  across  the  yard  into  the  shelter 
of  the  house,  locking  the  front  door  behind  her,  and 
going  into  the  sitting-room  and  the  kitchen,  to  see 
that  the  windows  were  fastened. 

Janet  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 
They  kissed  each  other  gravely,  in  silence,  like  those 


330  HARVEST 

who  feel  that  the  time  for  speech  is  done.  Then 
Rachel  went  into  her  room,  and  Janet  heard  her  turn 
the  key.  Janet  herself  slept  intermittently.  But 
whenever  she  woke,  it  seemed  to  her  that  there  was 
some  slight  sound  in  the  next  room — a  movement  or 
a  rustle,  which  showed  that  Rachel  was  still  awake — 
and  up  ? 

It  was  a  night  indeed  which  left  Rachel  with  that 
sense  of  strange  illuminations,  of  life  painfully  en- 
larged and  deepened,  which  love  and  suffering  may 
always  bring  to  the  woman  who  is  capable  of  love 
and  suffering.  She  had  spent  the  hours  in  writing  to 
Ellesborough,  and  in  that  letter  she  had  unpacked 
her  heart  to  its  depths,  Janet  guessed.  When  she 
received  the  letter  from  Rachel  on  the  morrow,  she 
handled  it  as  a  sacred  thing. 


XV 


THE  frost  held.  A  sun  of  pearl  and  fire  rose 
over  the  hill,  as  the  stars  finally  faded  out  in 
the  winter  morning,  and  a  brilliant  rime  lay 
sparkling  on  all  the  pastures  and  on  the  slopes  of 
the  down.  The  brilliance  had  partly  vanished  from 
the  lower  grounds  when  Janet  started  on  her  way; 
but  on  the  high  commons,  winter  was  at  its  gayest 
and  loveliest.  The  distant  woods  were  a  mist  of 
brown  and  azure,  encircling  the  broad  frost-whitened 
spaces;  the  great  single  beeches  and  oaks  under 
which  Spenser  or  Sidney — the  great  Will  himself — 
might  have  walked,  shot  up,  magnificent,  into  a  clear 
sky,  proudly  sheltering  the  gnarled  thorns  and  furze- 
bushes  which  marched  beside  and  round  them,  like 
dwarfs  in  a  pageant. 

Half  way  up  the  hill,  Janet  came  across  old  Betts 
bringing  down  a  small  cart-full  of  furze  for  fodder, 
and  she  stopped  to  speak  to  him.  A  little  later  on, 
nearer  to  the  camp  she  overtook  Dempsey,  who 
rather  officiously  joined  her,  and  assuming  at  once 
that  she  was  in  quest  of  the  Camp  Commandant, 
directed  her  to  a  short  cut  leading  straight  to  Elles- 

331 


332  HARVEST 

borough's  quarters.  There  was  a  slight  something 
in  the  manner  of  both  men  that  jarred  on  Janet — 
as  though  their  lips  said  one  thing  and  their  eyes 
another — furtive  in  the  case  of  Betts,  a  trifle  insolent 
in  that  of  Dempsey.  She  with  her  tragic  knowledge 
guessed  uncomfortably  at  what  it  meant.  Dempsey 
— as  she  had  made  up  her  mind  after  ten  minutes' 
talk  with  him — was  a  vain  gossip.  It  had  been  mad- 
ness on  Rachel's  part  to  give  him  the  smallest  hold 
on  her.  Very  likely  he  had  not  yet  actually  betrayed 
her — his  hope  of  favours  to  come  might  have  been 
sufficient  to  prevent  that.  But  his  self-importance 
would  certainly  show  itself  somehow — in  a  hint  or 
a  laugh.  He  had  probably  already  roused  in  the 
village  mind  a  prying  curiosity,  a  suspicion  of  some- 
thing underhand,  which  might  alter  Rachel's  whole 
relation  to  her  neighbours.  For  once  give  an  Eng- 
lish country-side  reason  to  suspect  a  scandal,  and  it 
will  pluck  it  bare  in  time,  with  a  slow  and  secret 
persistence. 

Well,  after  all,  if  the  situation  became  disagree- 
able, Rachel  would  only  have  to  choose  Ellesbor- 
ough's  country  as  her  own,  and  begin  her  new  life 
there. 

Supposing  that  all  went  well!  Janet's  mind  went 
through  some  painful  alterations  of  confidence  and 
fear,  as  she  walked  her  bicycle  along  the  rough 


HARVEST  333 

forest-track  leading  to  Ellesborough's  hut.  She  be- 
lieved him  to  be  deeply  in  love  with  Rachel,  and  the 
spiritual  passion  in  her  seemed  to  realize  in  the 
man's  inmost  nature,  behind  all  his  practical  ability, 
and  his  short  business  manner,  powers  of  pity  and 
tenderness  like  her  own.  But  if  she  were  wrong? 
If  this  second  revelation  put  too  great  a  strain  upon 
one  brought  up  in  an  exceptionally  strict  school 
where  certain  standards  of  conduct  were  simply 
taken  for  granted  ? 

Mystic,  and  puritan  as  she  was,  there  were 
moments  when  Janet  felt  her  responsibility  almost 
unbearable.  Rachel  deserted — Rachel  in  despair — 
Rachel  turning  on  the  woman  who  had  advised  her 
to  her  undoing — all  these  images  were  beating  on 
Janet's  tremulous  sense,  as  the  small  military  hut 
where  Ellesborough  and  two  of  his  junior  officers 
lived  came  into  view,  together  with  that  wide  hollow 
of  the  forestry  camp  where  he  and  Rachel  had  first 
met.  The  letter  in  her  pocket  seemed  a  living  and 
sinister  thing.  She  had  still  power  to  retain  it — to 
keep  it  imprisoned. 

A  lady  in  the  dress  of  the  Women's  Forestry 
Corps  appeared  on  another  path  leading  to  Elles- 
borough's hut.  Janet  recognized  Mrs.  Fergusson, 
and  was  soon  greeted  by  a  shout  of  welcome. 

"  Well,  so  Miss  Henderson's  engaged  to  our  Cap- 


334  HARVEST 

tain !  "  said  Mrs.  Fergusson,  with  a  smiling  counte- 
nance, as  they  shook  hands.  '  The  girls  here,  and 
I,  are  awfully  interested.  The  camp  began  it!  But 
do  you  want  the  Captain?  I'm  afraid  he  isn't  here." 

Janet's  countenance  fell. 

"  I  thought  I  should  be  sure  to  find  him  in  the 
dinner  hour." 

"  No,  he  went  up  to  town  by  the  first  train  this 
morning  on  some  business  with  the  Ministry.  We 
expect  him  back  about  three." 

It  was  not  one  o'clock.  Janet  pondered  what 
to  do. 

"  You  wanted  to  see  him?"  said  Mrs.  Fergusson, 
full  of  sympathy. 

"  I  brought  a  letter  for  him.  If  I  leave  it,  will  he 
be  sure  to  get  it  directly  he  returns?" 

"  His  servant's  in  the  hut.     Let's  talk  to  him." 

Mrs.  Fergusson  rapped  at  the  door  of  the  hut,  and 
walked  it.  An  elderly  batman  appeared. 

"  I  have  a  letter  for  Captain  Ellesborough — an 
important  letter — on  business,"  said  Janet.  "  I  was 
to  wait  for  an  answer.  But  as  he  isn't  here,  where 
shall  I  leave  it,  so  that  he  will  be  certain  to  get  it?  " 

"  On  his  table,  if  you  please,  ma'am,"  said  the 
soldier,  opening  the  door  of  the  Captain's  small 
sitting-room — "  I'll  see  that  he  gets  it." 

"It'll  be  quite  safe?"  said  Janet  anxiously,  plac- 


HARVEST  335 

ing  it  herself  in  a  prominent  place  on  the  writing- 
table. 

"  Lor,  yes,  ma'am.  Nobody  comes  in  here  but 
me,  when  the  Captain's  away.  I'll  tell  him  of  it 
directly  he  comes  home." 

"  May  I  just  write  a  little  »^ote  myself?  I  ex- 
pected to  find  Captain  Ellesborough  in." 

The  servant  handed  her  a  sheet  of  paper.  She 
wrote — "  I  brought  Rachel's  letter,  and  am  very  dis- 
appointed not  to  see  you.  Come  at  once.  Don't 
delay.  Janet  Leighton." 

She  slipped  it  into  an  envelope,  which  she  ad- 
dressed and  left  beside  the  other.  Then  she  re- 
luctantly left  the  hut  with  Mrs.  Fergusson. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  didn't  find  him,"  said  that 
lady.  "  Was  it  something  about  the  wedding?  "  she 
added,  smiling,  her  feminine  curiosity  getting  the 
better  of  her. 

"  Oh,  no — not  yet,"  said  Janet,  startled. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  it  won't  be  long,"  laughed  Mrs. 
Fergusson.  "  He's  desperately  in  love,  you  know !  " 

Janet  smiled  in  return,  and  Mrs.  Fergusson,  de- 
lighted to  have  the  chance,  broke  out  into  praises  of 
her  Commandant. 

'  You  see,  we  women  who  are  doing  all  this  new 
work  with  men,  we  know  a  jolly  deal  more  about 
them  than  we  ever  did  before.  I  can  tell  you,  it 


336  HARVEST 

searches  us  out,  this  joint  life — both  women  and 
men.  In  this  camp  you  can't  hide  what  you  are — 
the  sort  of  man — or  the  sort  of  woman.  And  there 
isn't  a  woman  in  this  camp,  if  she's  been  here  any 
time,  who  wouldn't  trust  the  Captain  for  all  she's 
worth — who  wouldrTi  tell  him  her  love-affairs,  or 
her  debts — or  march  up  to  a  machine-gun,  if  he  told 
her.  In  a  sense,  they're  in  love  with  him,  because — 
as  you've  no  doubt  found  out,  he  has  a  way  with 
him!  But  they  all  know  that  he's  never  been  any- 
thing to  them  but  the  best  of  Commandants,  and  a 
good  friend.  Oh,  I  could  never  have  run  this  camp 
but  for  him.  He  and  I'll  go  together!  Of  course 
we're  shutting  up  very  soon." 

So  the  pleasant  Irishwoman  ran  on,  as  she  walked 
beside  Janet  and  her  bicycle  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Janet  listened  and  smiled.  Her  own  mind  said  ditto 
to  it  all.  But  nevertheless,  the  more  Ellesborough 
was  set  on  a  pinnacle  by  this  enthusiastic  friend  and 
spectator  of  his  daily  life,  the  more  Rachel's  friend 
trembled  for  Rachel.  A  lover  "  not  too  bright  and 
good  "  to  understand — and  forgive — that  was  what 
was  wanted. 

She  reached  the  farm-gate  about  two  o'clock,  and 
Rachel  was  there,  waiting  for  her.  But  before  they 
met,  Rachel  watching  her  approach,  saw  that  there 
was  no  news  for  her. 


HARVEST  337 

"He  wasn't  there?"  she  said,  drearily,  as  Janet 
reached  her. 

Janet  explained,  and  they  walked  up  the  farm 
lane  together. 

"  I  would  have  waited  if  I  could,"  she  said  in 
distress.  "  But  it  would  have  looked  strange.  Mrs. 
Fergusson  would  have  suspected  something  wrong." 

"  Oh  no,  you  couldn't  have  waited,"  said  Rachel, 
decidedly.  u  Well !  " — she  threw  her  arms  out  in  a 
great  stretch — "  it's  done.  In  half  an  hour  he'll  be 
reading  the  letter.  It's  like  waiting  for  one's  execu- 
tion, isn't  it?  Nothing  can  stop  it;  I  may  be  dead 
before  tea !  "  She  gave  a  wild  laugh. 

"Rachel!" 

"  Well,  that's  how  I  feel.  If  he  gives  me  up,  it 
will  be  death — though  I  dare  say  I  shall  go  on  fuss- 
ing round  the  farm,  and  people  will  still  talk  to  me  as 
if  I  were  alive.  But !  " — she  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  He  won't  give  you  up — "  said  Janet,  much 
troubled — "  because — because  he's  a  good  man." 

"All  the  more  reason.  If  I  were  he,  I  should 
give  me  up.  Shall  I  tell  you  a  queer  thing,  Janet? 
I  hate  Roger,  as  much  as  I  can  hate  anybody.  It 
would  be  a  great  relief  to  me  if  I  heard  he  were 
dead.  And  yet  at  the  same  time  I  see — oh  yes,  I 
see  quite  plainly — that  I  treated  him  badly.  He 
told  me  so  the  other  night — and  it  is  so — it's  true. 


338  HARVEST 

I  never  had  the  least  patience  with  him.  And  now 
he's  dying — at  least  he  says  so — and  though  I  hate 
him — though  I  pray  I  may  never,  never  see  him 
again,  yet  I'm  sorry  for  him.  Isn't  that  strange?  " 

She  looked  at  Janet  with  a  queer  flickering  de- 
fiance, which  was  also  a  kind  of  remorse,  in  her  eyes. 

"  No,  it  isn't  strange." 

"  Why  not?— when  I  hate  him?  " 

"  One  can  be  sorry  even  for  those  one  hates.  I 
suppose  God  is,"  Janet  added,  after  a  pause. 

Rachel  made  a  little  face  of  scorn. 

"  Why  should  God  hate  any  one  ?  He  made  us. 
He's  responsible.  He  must  have  known  what  He 
was  doing.  If  He  really  pitied  us,  would  He  have 
made  us  at  all?  " 

Janet  made  a  little  protesting  sound — a  sound  of 
pain. 

"  Does  it  give  you  the  shivers,  old  woman,  when 
I  talk  like  that?"  Rachel  slipped  her  hand  affec- 
tionately through  Janet's  arm.  "  Well,  I  won't,  then. 
But  if — "  she  caught  her  breath  a  little — "  if  George 
casts  me  off,  don't  expect  me  to  sing  psalms  and  take 
it  piously.  I  don't  know  myself  just  lately — I  seem 
quite  strange  to  myself." 

And  Janet,  glancing  at  her  sideways,  wondered  in- 
deed where  all  that  rosy-cheeked,  ripe  bloom  had 
gone,  which  so  far  had  made  the  constant  charm  of 


HARVEST  339 

Rachel  Henderson.  Instead  a  bloodless  face,  with 
pinched  lines,  and  heavy-lidded  eyes!  What  a 
formidable  thing  was  this  "  love,"  that  she  herself 
had  never  known,  though  she  had  had  her  quiet 
dreams  of  husband  and  children,  like  her  fellows. 

Rachel,  however,  would  not  let  herself  be  talked 
with  or  pitied.  She  walked  resolutely  to  the  house, 
and  went  off  to  the  fields  to  watch  Halsey  cutting 
and  trimming  a  hedge. 

"  If  he  doesn't  come  before  dark,"  she  said,  under 
her  breath,  to  Janet,  before  setting  off — "  it  will  be 
finished.  If  he  does " 

She  hurried  away  without  finishing  the  sentence, 
and  was  presently  taking  a  lesson  from  old  Halsey, 
in  what  is  fast  becoming  one  of  the  rarest  of  the 
rural  arts.  But  in  little  more  than  half  an  hour, 
Janet  bringing  in  the  cows,  saw  her  return  and  go 
into  the  house.  The  afternoon  was  still  lovely — 
the  sky,  a  pale  gold,  with  thin  bars  of  grey  cloud 
lying  across  it,  and  the  woods,  all  delicate  shades  of 
brown  and  purple,  with  their  topmost  branches  clear 
against  the  gold.  The  old  red  walls  and  tiled  roofs 
of  the  farm,  the  fields,  the  great  hay  and  straw 
stacks,  were  all  drenched  in  the  soft  winter  light. 

Rachel  went  up  to  her  room,  and  sat  down  before 
the  bare  deal  dressing-table  which  held  her  looking- 
glass,  and  the  very  few  articles  of  personal  luxury 


340  HARVEST 

she  possessed;  a  pair  of  silver-backed  brushes  and  a 
hand-glass  that  had  belonged  to  an  aunt,  a  small 
leather  case  in  which  she  kept  some  modest  trinkets 
— a  pearl  brooch,  a  bracelet  or  two,  and  a  locket 
that  had  been  her  mother's — and,  standing  on  either 
side  of  the  glass,  two  photographs  of  her  father  and 
mother. 

There  was  a  clock  on  the  mantelpiece.  "  Nearly 
four  o'clock — "  she  thought — "  I'll  give  it  an  hour. 
He'd  send — if  he  couldn't  come,  and  he  wanted  to 
come — but  if  nothing  happens — I  shall  know  what 
to  think." 

As  this  passed  through  her  mind,  she  opened  one 
of  the  drawers  of  the  dressing-table,  in  which  she 
kept  her  gloves  and  handkerchiefs.  Suddenly  she 
perceived  at  the  back  of  the  drawer  a  small  leathern 
case.  The  colour  rushed  into  her  face.  She  took  it 
out  and  ran  quickly  down  the  stairs  to  the  kitchen. 
Janet  and  the  girls  were  busy  milking.  The  coast 
was  clear. 

A  bright  fire  which  Janet  had  just  made  up  was 
burning  in  the  kitchen.  Rachel  went  up  to  it  and 
thrust  the  leathern  case  into  the  red  core  of  it.  Some 
crackling — a  disagreeable  smell — and  the  little  thing 
had  soon  vanished.  Rachel  went  slowly  upstairs 
again,  and  locked  the  door  of  her  room  behind  her. 
The  drawer  of  the  dressing-table  was  still  open,  and 


HARVEST  34i 

there  was  visible  in  it  the  object  she  was  really  in 
search  of,  when  the  little  leathern  case  caught 
her  eye — a  small  cloth-bound  book  marked 
"  Diary." 

She  took  it  out,  and  sat  with  it  in  her  hand,  think- 
ing. How  was  it  she  had  never  yet  destroyed  that 
case  ?  The  Greek  cameo  brooch  it  held — Dick  Tan- 
ner's gift  to  her^-how  vividly  she  recalled  her  first 
evening  alone  at  the  farm,  when  she  had  dropped  it 
into  the  old  well,  and  had  listened  to  the  splash  of  it 
in  the  summer  silence.  She  remembered  thinking 
vaguely,  and  no  doubt  foolishly,  that  the  cameo 
would  drop  more  heavily  and  more  certainly  without 
the  case,  which  was  wood,  though  covered  with 
leather,  and  she  had  therefore  taken  the  brooch  out, 
and  had  probably  put  back  the  case  absently  into  her 
pocket.  And  thence  it  had  found  its  way  back  among 
her  things,  how  she  did  not  know. 

The  little  adventure  had  excited  and  unnerved 
her.  It  seemed  somehow  of  evil  omen  that  she 
should  have  come  across  that  particular  thing  at  this 
moment.  Opening  the  diary  with  a  rather  trembling 
hand,  she  looked  through  it.  She  was  not  orderly 
or  systematic  enough  to  keep  a  diary  regularly,  and 
it  only  contained  a  few  entries,  at  long  intervals,  re- 
lating mostly  to  her  married  life — and  to  the  death 
of  her  child.  She  glanced  through  them  with  that 


342  HARVEST 

strange  sense  of  unreality — of  standing  already  out- 
side her  life,  of  which  she  had  spoken  to  Janet. 
There  were  some  blank  pages  at  the  end  of  the  book; 
and,  in  her  restlessness,  just  to  pass  the  time  and  to 
find  some  outlet  for  the  storm  of  feeling  within,  she 
began  to  write,  at  first  slowly,  and  then  very 
rapidly. 

"  He  must  have  got  my  letter  by  now.  I  sent  it 
by  Janet  this  morning.  He  wasn't  there — but  by 
now  he  must  have  got  home — he  is  probably  reading 
it  at  this  moment.  Whatever  happens  to  me — I 
want  just  to  say  this — to  write  it  down  now,  while 
I  can — I  shall  never  blame  George,  and  I  shall  al- 
ways love  him — with  all  my  heart,  with  all  my  soul. 
He  has  the  right  to  say  he  can't  trust  me — I  told  him 
so  in  my  letter  this  morning — that  I  am  not  fit  to  be 
his  wife.  He  has  the  right — and  very  likely  he  will 
say  it.  The  terrible  thing  is  that  I  don't  trust  my- 
self. If  I  look  forward  and  ask  myself — shall  I 
always  feel  as  I  do  now? — I  can't  honestly  be  sure. 
There  is  something  in  me  that  wants  change — 
always  something  new — some  fresh  experience.  I 
can't  even  imagine  the  time  when  I  shouldn't  love 
George.  The  mere  thought  of  losing  him  is  awful 
— unspeakable.  But  yet — I  will  write  it  down 
frankly ! — -nothing  has  ever  lasted  with  me  very  long. 
It  is  like  the  farm.  I  used  to  love  every  minute  of 


HARVEST  343 

the  day,  every  bit  of  the  work,  however  dull  and 
dirty  it  was;  and  now — I  love  it  still — but  I  seem 
already — sometimes — to  be  looking  forward  to  the 
day  when  I  shall  be  tired  of  it. 

"  Why  am  I  made  like  that?  I  don't  know.  But 
I  can't  feel  that  I  am  responsible. 

"  Perhaps  if  George  forgives  me,  I  shall  be  so 
happy  that  everything  will  change — my  own  char- 
acter first  of  all.  That  is  my  hope.  For  though  I 
suppose  I  am  vain — though  I  like  people  to  admire 
me  and  make  much  of  me — I  am  not  really  in  love 
with  myself  at  all.  If  I  were,  I  couldn't  be  in  love 
with  George — we  are  so  different. 

"  I  don't  feel  yet  that  I  know  him.  Perhaps  now 
I  never  shall.  I  often  find  myself  wishing  that  he 
had  something  to  confess  to  me.  I  would  hardly  let 
him — he  should  never  humble  himself  to  me.  But  to 
feel  that  I  could  forgive  him  something,  and  that  he 
would  owe  me  something — would  be  very  sweet,  very 
heavenly.  I  would  make  it  so  easy  for  him.  Is  he 
feeling  like  that  towards  me?  '  Poor  child — she  was 
very  young — and  so  miserable  !  ' 

"  I  mustn't  write  like  this — it  makes  me  cry. 
There  is  a  beautiful  yellow  sunset  outside,  and  the 
world  seems  very  still.  He  must  be  here  soon — or 
a  messenger.  Janet  asked  him  not  to  wait. 

"  After  all,  I  don't  think  I  am  so  changeable.  I 
have  just  been  running  myself  down — but  I  don't 


344  HARVEST 

really  believe  I  could  ever  change — towards  him. 
Oh,  George ! — George ! — my  George ! — come  to  me ! 
— don't  give  me  up.  George,  darling,  you  could  do 
anything  with  me  you  liked — don't  despair  of  me ! 
In  the  Gospel,  it  was  the  bad  women  who  were  for- 
given because  they  loved  *  much.1  Now  I  under- 
stand why.  Because  love  makes  new.  It  is  so  ter- 
ribly strong.  It  is  either  a  poison — or  life — im- 
mortal life.  I  have  never  been  able  to  believe  in 
the  things  Janet  believes  in.  But  I  think  I  do  now 
believe  in  immortality — in  something  within  you  that 
can't  die — when  once  it  has  begun  to  live." 

And  then  she  laid  her  pencil  down — and  sat  with 
the  book  on  her  knee — looking  towards  the  gold  and 
grey  of  the  sky — the  tears  running  quietly  down  her 
cheeks. 

Meanwhile,  Hastings  had  come  hurriedly  into 
the  shippen,  where  Janet  and  the  two  girls  were 
milking.  He  came  to  stand  beside  her,  silent,  but 
ffidgeting  so,  that  she  presently  looked  up  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"  Did  you  want  me?  " 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice,  stooping  over  her — "  Don't  let  the  girls 
hear.  But  that  man's  been  seen  again.  The  tramp." 


HARVEST  345 

Janet  started.  She  jumped  up,  asked  Betty,  who 
had  finished,  to  take  her  place,  and  went  with  Has- 
tings out  of  the  barn. 

"  There  are  two  or  three  people  think  they've 
seen  him  lately,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "  A  man  from 
Dobson's  farm" — (the  farm  which  lay  between 
Great  End  and  the  village) — "  who  was  on  the  hill 
yesterday  evening,  just  before  dark,  was  certain  he 
saw  somebody  hanging  about  the  back  of  the  farm 
in  a  queer  way " 

"  Last  night?  "  echoed  Janet. 

"  Yes.  And  there  are  two  people  who  remember 
meeting  a  man  on  the  X —  road  who  said  he  was 
going  to  Walton  End.  And  the  police  have  been  in- 
quiring, but  nobody  at  Walton  End  knows  anything 
about  such  a  man.  However,  they  have  a  descrip- 
tion of  him  at  last.  A  tall,  dark  fellow — gentle- 
manly manners — seems  delicate.  I  don't  like  the 
look  of  it,  Miss  Janet.  Seems  to  me  as  though  it 
weren't  just  a  tramp,  hanging  about  for  what  he  can 
steal.  Do  you  know  of  anybody  who  has  a  down 
on  Miss  Henderson — who'd  like  to  frighten  her,  or 
put  blackmail  on  her?  " 

Janet  considered.  She  was  tempted  to  take  the 
faithful  fellow  to  some  extent  into  her  confidence, 
but  she  rapidly  decided  against  it.  She  suggested 
that  he  should  himself  sleep  for  a  few  nights  at  the 


346  HARVEST 

farm,  and  carefully  examine  the  neighbourhood  of 
it,  last  thing;  and  that  she  should  bicycle  over  to 
Millsborough  at  once,  and  have  some  further  talk 
with  the  Superintendent  of  Police  there. 

"  Besides — I'd  like  to  be  out  of  the  way,"  she 
thought.  '  They  won't  want  anybody  hanging 
round  I" 

For  there  was  steadily  growing  up  in  her  a  bliss- 
ful confidence  that  all  would  be  once  more  settled 
and  settled  for  good,  before  the  night  fell.  Spec- 
tators were  entirely  out  of  place !  Nor  would  she 
disturb  Rachel's  mind  by  any  talk  just  then  of  what 
seemed  to  be  a  fresh  attempt  at  terrorism  on  the 
part  of  her  wretched  husband.  Hastings  would  be 
in  charge  for  the  moment,  and  Ellesborough  would 
be  on  the  spot  for  consultation  before  darkness  had 
really  set  in. 

So  as  before,  she  told  Hastings  not  to  alarm  Miss 
Henderson.  But  he  was  not  to  leave  the  farm-build- 
ings, and  possibly  the  Superintendent  of  Police  would 
return  with  her.  "  And  then — either  Rachel  or  the 
Captain  will  have  to  tell  the  police  the  truth !  "  Just 
,  as  she  was  starting,  Rachel  came  downstairs  in  some 
surprise. 

"Where  are  you  off  to?" 

"  I  have  forgotten  something  I  wanted  from 
Millsborough.  I  shall  be  back  in  an  hour  or  so." 


HARVEST  347 

Rachel  abstractedly  nodded  assent.  The  golden 
light  from  the  west  transfigured  her,  as  she  stood  in 
the  doorway.  She  was  pale,  but  it  seemed  to  Janet 
that  she  was  no  longer  excited — that  there  was  in  her 
too  something  of  the  confidence  which  had  sprung 
up  in  the  heart  of  her  friend.  She  had  the  look  of 
one  for  whom  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow  is  past,  and 
her  beauty  had  never  struck  Janet  as  it  struck  her 
at  that  moment.  Its  grosser  elements  seemed  all  re- 
fined away.  The  girlish  look  was  quite  gone;  she 
seemed  older  and  graver;  but  there  breathed  about 
her  "  a  diviner  air." 

Janet,  who  was  much  the  shorter,  mounted  on  the 
step  to  kiss  her.  Caresses  were  not  at  all  common 
between  them,  but  Rachel  returned  it,  and  their  eyes 
met  in  a  quiet  look  which  said  what  her  lips  forbore. 
Then  Janet  departed,  and  Rachel  waved  to  her  as 
she  passed  through  the  gate. 

Hastings  crossed  the  yard,  and  Rachel  called  to 
him. 

"Are  you  off  soon?  " 

"  No,  Miss.  I  shall  sleep  over  the  stable.  That 
horse  wants  looking  after." 

Rachel  acquiesced,  with  a  vague  feeling  of  satis- 
faction, and  Hastings  disappeared  within  the  stable 
opposite. 

She  went  back  into  the  sitting-room,  which  was 


348  HARVEST 

still  flooded  with  the  last  reflections  from  the  west- 
ern sky  beyond  the  fields,  though  the  light  was  fad- 
ing rapidly,  and  the  stars  were  coming  out.  What 
a  strange  effect  it  was — she  suddenly  noticed  it 
afresh — that  of  the  two  large  windows  exactly  fac- 
ing each  other  in  so  small  a  room !  One  had  an  odd 
sense  of  being  indoors  and  out,  at  the  same  time; 
the  down  on  one  side,  the  farm-yard  on  the  other, 
and  in  the  midst,  the  fire,  the  table  and  chairs,  the 
pictures,  and  the  red  carpet,  seemed  all  parts  of  the 
same  scene. 

She  made  up  the  fire.  She  brought  in  a  few  Xmas 
roses,  from  a  border  under  the  kitchen  window,  and 
arranged  them  in  a  glass  on  the  table.  It  was  then 
time  to  draw  the  blinds.  But  she  could  not  make 
up  her  mind  to  shut  out  the  saffron  sky,  or  the  view 
of  the  road. 

Something  in  the  distance ! — an  approaching 
figure,  and  the  noise  of  a  motor-bicycle.  She  caught 
at  a  chair  a  moment,  as  though  to  steady  herself; 
and  then  she  went  to  the  window,  and  stood  there 
watching.  He  saw  her  quite  plainly  in  the  level 
light,  and  leaving  his  bicycle  at  the  gate,  he  came 
towards  her.  There  was  no  one  in  the  yard,  and 
before  he  entered  he  stood  a  moment,  bare-headed, 
gazing  at  her,  as  she  stood  framed  in  the  window. 
Everything  that  she  wished  to  know  was  written  in 


HARVEST  349 

his  face.  A  little  sob  broke  the  silence  of  the  sitting- 
room. 

Then  he  opened  the  doors  and  closed  them  behind 

him.    Without  a  word  she  seemed  to  glide  over  the 

room  towards  him;  and  now,  she  was  on  his  breast, 

gathered  close  against  the  man's  passionately  beating 

heart.    Neither  spoke — neither  was  able  to  speak. 

Then — suddenly — a  crash  of  breaking  glass — a 
shot.  The  woman  he  was  holding  fell  from  Elles- 
borough's  arms;  he  only  just  caught  her.  Another 
shot — which  grazed  his  own  coat. 

"Rachel!" 

It  was  a  cry  of  horror.  Her  eyes  were  closing. 
But  she  still  smiled  at  him,  as  he  laid  her  on  the  floor, 
imploring  her  to  speak.  There  was  a  stain  of  blood 
on  the  lips,  and  through  them  came  a  few  shuddering 
gasps. 

Hastings  rushed  into  the  room — 

"Good  God,  Sir!" 

"A  doctor! — Go  for  a  doctor!"  said  Ellesbor- 
ough  hoarsely — "  No — she's  gone !  " 

He  sank  down  beside  her,  putting  his  ear  to  her 
lips.  In  vain.  No  sound  was  there.  The  smiling 
mouth  had  settled  and  shut.  Without  a  murmur  or 
a  sigh,  Rachel  had  passed  for  ever  from  this  warm 
world  and  the  arms  of  her  lover,  at  the  bidding  of 
the  "  fierce  workman  Death." 


350  HARVEST 

When  Janet,  a  doctor,  and  the  Superintendent  of 
Police  arrived,  it  was  to  find  Ellesborough  sitting 
motionless  beside  the  body,  while  the  two  girls,  a 
blanched  and  shivering  pair,  watched  for  Janet  at 
the  door. 

"  Can  you  throw  any  light  upon  it,  Sir?  "  said  the 
Superintendent,  respectfully,  at  last,  when  the  Doctor 
had  finished  his  examination,  and  still  Ellesborough 
did  not  speak. 

The  Captain  looked  up. 

"  Her  husband  did  it  " — he  said,  quietly — **  the 
man  who  was  her  husband." 

A  shudder  of  surprise  ran  through  the  room. 

"Did  I  hear  you  right,  Sir?"  said  the  Superin- 
tendent. "  Miss  Henderson  passed  for  unmarried." 

"  She  married  a  man  called  Roger  Delane  in  Can- 
ada," said  Ellesborough,  in  the  same  monotonous 
voice.  "  She  divorced  him — for  cruelty  and  adultery 
— two  years  ago.  A  few  days  since  he  waylaid  her 
in  the  dark,  and  threatened  her.  I  didn't  know  this 
till  she  wrote  to  me  to-day.  She  said  that  she  was 
afraid  of  him — that  she  thought  he  was  mad — and 
I  came  over  at  once  to  see  how  I  could  protect  her. 
We  were  engaged  to  be  married." 

The  Superintendent  drew  a  furtive  hand  across 
his  eyes.  Then  he  produced  his  note-book,  and  took 
the  evidence  in  order.  Hastings  came  in  from  a 


HARVEST  35i 

lantern  search  of  the  farm-buildings,  the  hill-side, 
and  the  nearest  fringes  of  wood,  to  report  that  he 
had  found  no  trace  of  the  murderer.  The  news, 
however,  had  by  this  time  spread  through  the  village, 
and  the  kitchen  was  full  of  persons  who  had  hurried 
to  the  farm — Old  Halsey  and  John  Dempsey 
.among  them — to  tell  what  they  knew,  and  had  seen. 
Ellesborough  roused  himself  from  his  stupor,  and 
came  to  assist  the  police  in  the  preliminary  examina- 
tion of  witnesses  and  inspection  of  the  farm.  Once 
he  and  Janet  passed  each  other,  but  they  did  not 
attempt  to  speak.  Each  indeed  shrank  from  the 
other.  A  word  of  pity  would  have  been  merely  a 
deepened  agony. 

But  the  farm  emptied  at  last.  A  body  of  police 
had  been  sent  out  to  scout  the  woods,  to  watch  the 
roads  and  the  railway  stations.  Ellesborough  and 
Hastings  had  lifted  the  dead  woman  upon  a  tem- 
porary bier  which  had  been  raised  in  the  sitting- 
room.  Then  Hastings  had  drawn  Ellesborough 
away,  and  Janet,  with  a  village  mother,  had  ren- 
dered the  last  offices. 

When  Ellesborough  re-entered,  he  found  a  white 
vision,  lying  in  a  bare  room,  from  which  all  traces 
of  ordinary  living  had  been  as  far  as  possible  cleared 
away.  Only  the  Christmas  roses  which  Rachel  had 
gathered  that  afternoon  were  now  on  her  breast. 


352  HARVEST 

Her  hands  were  folded  over  them.  Her  beautiful 
hair  lay  unbound  on  the  pillow — Janet's  trembling 
hands  had  refused  to  cut  it. 

At  sight  of  Ellesborough,  Janet  rose  from  her 
kneeling  posture  beside  the  dead,  as  white  and  frozen 
almost  as  Rachel  herself — with  something  in  her 
hand — a  small  book.  She  held  it  out  to  Elles- 
borough. 

"  The  Superintendent  asked  my  leave  to  go  into 
her  room — in  case  there  was  anything  which  could 
help  them.  He  brought  me  this.  She  had  been 
writing  in  it — He  asked  me  to  look  at  it.  I  did — 
just  enough  to  see — that  no  one  had  any  right  to  it 
— but  you.  She  wrote  it  I  think  about  an  hour  be- 
fore you  came.  It  was  her  last  word." 

"  I  have  her  letters  also  " — said  Ellesborough, 
almost  inaudibly,  as  he  took  the  book — "  You 
brought  it — you  kind  woman !  You  were  her  good 
angel — God  reward  you!  " 

Then  at  last  a  convulsion  of  weeping  showed  in 
Janet's  face.  She  laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  went 
noiselessly  away. 

Ellesborough  sat  beside  his  dead  love  all  night. 
The  farm  was  peaceful  again  after  that  rush  of  the 
Furies  through  it,  which  had  left  this  wreck  behind. 
Rachel's  diary  and  letter  lay  before  him.  They 
were  as  her  still  living  voice  in  his  ears,  and  as  the 


HARVEST  353 

words  sank  into  memory  they  pierced  through  all 
the  rigidities  of  a  noble  nature,  rending  and  knead- 
ing as  they  went.  He  recalled  his  own  solitary  hour 
of  bitterness  after  her  letter  reached  him.  The 
story  it  contained  had  gone  very  hard  with  him, 
though  never  for  one  moment  had  he  even  in 
thought  forsaken  her.  There  was  some  comfort  in 
that.  But  the  memory  which  upheld  him,  which 
alone  kept  him  from  despair,  was  the  memory  of 
her  face  at  the  window,  the  sense  still  lingering  in 
his  own  physical  pulses  of  her  young  clinging  life  in 
his  arms,  of  the  fluttering  of  her  poor  heart  against 
his  breast,  the  exquisite  happiness  of  her  kiss — the 
kiss  which  death  cut  short. 

No — he  had  not  failed  her.  That  was  all  he  had 
to  live  by.  And  without  it,  it  seemed  to  him,  he 
could  not  have  endured  to  live. 

The  two  girls  had  sobbed  themselves  to  sleep  at 
last.  But  Janet  did  not  sleep.  Tears  came  naturally 
as  the  hours  went  by — tears  and  the  agonized  relief 
of  prayer  to  one  for  whom  prayer  was  a  daily  need 
of  the  soul.  And  in  the  early  morning  there  flooded 
in  upon  her  a  strange  consciousness  of  Rachel's 
spirit  in  hers — a  strange  suspicion  that  after  all  the 
gods  had  not  wrought  so  hardly  with  Rachel.  A 
few  days  before  she  had  attended  the  funeral  in  the 


354  HARVEST 

village  church,  of  a  young  wife  just  happily  mar- 
ried, who  had  died  in  three  days,  of  virulent  in- 
fluenza. Never  had  the  words  of  the  Anglican 
service  pleased  her  so  little.  What  mockery — what 
fulsome  mockery — to  thank  God  because  "  it  hath 
pleased  Thee  to  deliver  this  our  sister,  out  of  the 
miseries  of  this  troublesome  world."  But  the  words 
recurred  to  her  now — mysteriously — with  healing 
power.  Had  it  been  after  all  "  deliverance  "  for 
Rachel,  from  this  "  troublesome  world,"  and  the 
temptations  that  surround  those  who  are  not  strong 
enough  for  the  wrestle  that  Fate  sets  them — that  a 
God  appoints  them?  She  had  met  her  lover — after 
fear  and  anguish;  and  had  known  him  hers,  utterly 
and  wholly  hers,  for  one  supreme  moment.  And 
from  that  height — that  perfection — God  had  called 
her.  No  lesser  thing  could  ever  touch  her  now. 

Such  are  the  moments  of  religious  exaltation 
which  cheat  even  the  sharpest  griefs  of  men  and 
women.  Janet  would  decline  from  her  Pisgah 
height  only  too  soon;  but,  for  the  time,  thoughts 
like  these  gave  her  the  strength  to  bear. 

When  the  house  began  to  move  again,  she  went 
down  to  Ellesborough.  She  drew  him  into  the 
kitchen — made  a  fire,  and  brought  him  food.  Pres- 
ently she  found  calm  enough  to  tell  him  many  de- 
tails of  the  previous  days.  And  the  man's  sound 


HARVEST  355 

nature  responded.  Once  he  grasped  her  hand,  and 
kissed  it- — as  though  he  thanked  her  dumbly  again, 
for  himself  and  Rachel.  It  seemed  to  Janet  indeed, 
as  she  sat  by  him,  that  Rachel  had  left  her  a  trust. 
She  took  it  up  instinctively — from  this  first  desolate 
morning.  For  there  are  women  set  apart  for  friend- 
ship— Janet  was  one  of  them — as  others  are  set 
apart  for  love. 

And  with  the  first  break  of  light  on  the  new 
November  day,  the  search  parties  in  the  hills  came 
upon  what  they  sought.  Some  one  remembered  the 
deserted  hut — and  from  that  moment  the  hunt  was 
easy.  Finally  in  the  dripping  heart  of  the  wood  the 
pursuers  found  the  murderer  lying  face  downwards 
in  front  of  the  dead  fire,  with  the  revolver  beside 
him  with  which  he  had  taken  first  Rachel's  life,  and 
then  his  own.  Some  sheets  of  paper  were  scattered 
near  him,  on  which  he  had  written  an  incoherent  and 
grandiloquent  confession.  But  of  such  acts  there  is 
no  real  explanation.  They  are  the  product  of  that 
black  seed  in  human  nature  which  is  born  with  a 
man,  and  flowers  in  due  time,  through  devious 
stages,  into  such  a  deed  as  that  which  destroyed 
Rachel  Henderson. 

THE  END 


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